


Date With the Devil

by Ayrki



Category: D.E.B.S. (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-10-06
Updated: 2006-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 65,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayrki/pseuds/Ayrki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost of the story originally posted on the All Things DEBS forum between 2005 and 2007.</p><p>In the years following Endgame and her departure from the intelligence world, Amy Bradshaw has done an admirable job of maintaining an ordinary if occasionally dangerous life.  She travels with relief aid organisations, shares as much art as she can during those journeys, and when possible: catches up with old university friends. This is only half of her story.  The carefully protected truth is that Amy Bradshaw may’ve left the world of espionage behind, but the woman she became in the aftermath of Endgame did not.</p><p>As with all double lives, maintaining the two as exclusive only lasts so long, especially with a rapidly expanding criminal world power that threatens to consume everything and everyone it touches.  Including someone she left behind a long time ago.  Amy’s every day life and relationships are about to collide with the activities of her alternative life.  New threats arise, old friends are reunited, and amidst it all, Amy Bradshaw is left desperately trying to keep her wits about her while trying to recover from the second worst disaster of her career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you skip these notes, you might need to check back in and have a look a them when you get to what are labelled as chapters 8 and 9.
> 
> Ten years ago, I began this monstrosity with a hastily put together prologue that still makes me cringe. This story is still not finished, and it is not the story I’d set out to write (mostly because I started out by committing a cardinal writing sin: I had no clue what story I was planning to tell). It’s over-inflated, bloated by badly put together scenes and introductions, and I went about setting up the world far too fast. This was intended to be the first of a much, much larger universe, and you can see that in especially the first few chapters with the rapid introduction of far too many characters in painfully cliched bad!fic techniques.
> 
> I’m sure it’s bad form to write your notes by tearing down everything you’re about to post, but my intention is if I manage to do what I am planning to do (rewrite and entirely overhaul this into the story it deserves to be), then please go into this story understanding that it may change (it’s definitely going to change). I’ve been redrafting the original characters (they’ll stick around, I’ll just be developing them better), and want to tear apart the existing set up of the story into something that reads better. Essentially? Everything is subject to change.
> 
> This is particularly important if you do decide to undertake the ridiculous task that is reading this…thing. Because what I am intending to do is repost all already published parts as they originally appeared (Prologue, chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5a, and 5b), and then post the as of yet unfinished pieces of part 5c and chapter 6. I do intend to try and work on them, but as my intention is to post this, come hell or high-water on the 6th of October, 2015 (10 years after I made the initial post), it is likely to be extremely rough.
> 
> I will try to explain any gaps and provide some guide as to what was supposed to appear, but please note: these chapters are unpolished, unfinished, and have not been edited by anyone other than myself. Both have also been seen by very few people. It’s gonna be a bit of a mess. But the truth is I need to post this either way. I need this done and out and it to no longer be the story that glares at me. This is my attempt at closure, one way or the other. I do hope I manage the impossible and can complete enough of the story to pick steam back up on redrafting it, but if I don’t, I’d like for there at least to be some indication of what conclusion this was going to draw to. (There will be notes at the end of the last part explaining that further.)
> 
> Thank you for reading this, whether it was just the notes or the entire work.

Prologue

~~~

"I want her lucid but pliable and I don't want the same cock-up as last time!" She could hear the shout from just outside her cell as she sat against the cold, wet stone; it was male, harsh, and uttered with a strong accent. Which specifically, she wasn't sure but if hazarding a guess, she would have placed it quite a bit south and with the kangaroos.

The second voice was softer, almost more melodic and baring a cadence she immediately recognised as Italian. "Yes, I want this one, this girl, to last longer."

"Ye'sir." The words were run together in a rush to get them out quicker and appease the first two. It was obviously a terrified lackey or minion.

The screech of metal on stone grated at her ears as the door was hauled open and a mountain of a man stepped in. His gaze darted over to where she crouched, chain and cuff keeping her to the frigid stone. Stepping over, he jabbed the prepared dosage into her arm and depressed the plunger, forcing the drug into her system. Finished, he stepped back, took one last look at the brunette woman, and stepped back out into the hall.

The first man, the Australian, spoke. "That dosage should kick in 'bout five minutes."

"Good. Prep her for the session, and remember, Blake: I want this one to last. I want to enjoy this."

She could practically hear the smile in the man's voice. "You will, Miguel." It was a promise that sent shivers down her spine. This was not good.

...

Her nerves were on fire, pain blazing across neutron endings and more than enough to make her scream. She would have, but she was determined not to give this bastard that satisfaction. Three hours ago, it had ceased to be about any information and smoothly slid into the sick pleasure of her agony. Oh yeah, this was not good at all. In fact, on the scale of one to ten of 'Not Good,' this ranked somewhere about two hundred and forty-seven.

For the first time in her life, she was damn glad to actually have information worth torturing her for because it meant that even with her death, her silence would be a triumph. At least she'd have something over on this sadistic sociopathic bastard and, amazingly enough, it was. Enough. She'd take the pain and the hell and continue to glare defiantly with icy green eyes at this man, Miguel, and his toxin and blade-happy interrogator, Blake. Even if it killed her -something she could accept- they would get neither the joy of her screams or information locked in her head.

...

Suddenly, the world upended itself and shook the foundation of the old stone structure. She could hear the Italian swearing in fury and demanding to know what the hell was happening. As another explosion rocked the building, he took a look at the young woman secured to the hard, metal chair and told his companion to leave her. They would finish this later when they had time.

A few minutes later, body still screaming in agony, she was alone. Another blast-quake left her on the ground, still strapped to the chair, but lying on some sort of shards. The metal cutting into her skin hurt like hell, but if slender enough, she wasn't complaining. Another couple of minutes passed and she was free, the job delayed and hindered by the slivers slick with blood. Her head throbbed, the room spun, and she knew that when she stood it would be a miracle if she didn't drop back down from both the drug and equilibrium-screwing pain.

No miracle. The moment she had her feet under her, her knees buckled, undoubtedly aided by the next detonation. Another few attempts and finally, with her hand firmly against the wall, she stood. Her long legs protested to finally being stretched out after too long folded beneath her, but for once, it was a good sort of pain. She also told herself pain meant she was alive. That her heart still beat, her lungs still breathed, and that as soon as her body finally stopped feeling as though someone had switched her moisturiser with napalm, she'd be back for revenge on those two bastards.

Slowly, but steadily, she made her way out of the cell -her home for the last week- and down the hall, her hand still against the wall, leaving crimson testament to her passage. When she came across two fallen guards, she did the smart thing of looting their bodies before carrying on. With the gift of flak-jacket, boots that were a bit too big but sturdy, vest with all sorts of nifty items, and assorted weapons, she felt a hell of a lot better about stumbling through an unknown enemy stronghold, drugged to hell and back -oh, sorry, this was hell, tortured, and probably as weak as a kitten.

'Oh, well. They do say attitude is 90% of it, so lets see them screw with me in this mood.'

...

"Hey, Boss. You gotta come see this," one of the men picking over the rubble called out to the dark woman overseeing the entire operation with an expression of disinterest. Wordlessly, she made her way over to him, her tanned features still impassive, as she lifted dark eyebrows in question to his summoning.

"This guy, this Miguel Alibrandi, is one sick mother," her friend and right-hand man informed her, waving his arm at the wide shelves of what looked to be recordings. He was in the middle of looting through the control room when he'd stumbled across all the disks and out of curiosity had cued one up. "He actually tapes all of his torture sessions."

Her face must have shown some emotion because he nodded and continued. "Yeah. He's seriously one sick fuck." He hit a couple of keys and started one, grimacing at the sharp scream that came from the scream. She couldn't keep the repulsion at the sadistic display she saw, and mercifully, the man switched it off. "That was to give you an idea of what this guy seems to be like, but what I really thought you should see is over here." He tugged on her sleeve and led her to another monitor.

His blue eyes were compassionate and carried a regret she found confusing but didn't comment on. Pressing another series of commands, the screen came to life and though she leaned foreword slightly, she instantly knew why he'd called her over. Despite the years, the past, anything else, and box of hair dye, the passive facade broke at what she saw on that screen. She jerked her head back up at her friend, dark gaze begging him for it to be all a sick and cruel joke, but from his expression, she knew it wasn't.

Reaching for one of the knobs, he dialled it forward a couple of hours, the torture displaying in some hyper-speed for them until he found the point he wanted. "From what I can tell, she didn't give anything up, but I'm not sure he was even really looking. This is what's interesting though." Her head jerked up at the use of the word, but he pointed at the screen with a 'trust me' expression and she did.

As the screen shook, she knew it was from the first string of explosives detonated along the outer wall from their initial assault. Then, she saw the two men depart in a scurry and the brunette thrown to the ground with the blast from the fortified doors. She was encouraged a few minutes later when the young woman rolled gingerly away from the chair she'd been strapped to, having somehow freed herself. Dismay and anger found her though when she saw the blood running crimson on her hands. She watched the woman struggle to her feet a number of times before doggedly making to the door before the view changed to one of the hall where she saw the brunette slowly slip away in the chaos. From the way she moved though, the dark woman knew she was in pain and a hell of a lot of it at that.

"Where is this?" she asked pointing at the hall.

As if expecting this, the man responded as he lifted his bag and slipped the strap over his head and shoulder. "A couple of levels down. Come on and make sure no one shoots my ass up will ya?" he requested with a smile thrown over his shoulder.

...

It was a reaction born out of instinct and had she the moment to think on it, very probably would have been dead.  She'd no sooner stepped around the corner of one hall into the next when the blaze of agony erupted across her side.  Before her mind could combat both the reaction of survival and ebbed control from the drugs still rampant in her system, her hand closed around the guard's.  Hot blood seeped over their joined hands, making his hold slick but not affecting her surprisingly strong grip.  

With a cold, methodical, but quick jerk, the knife was out and the young man's arm wrenched back with enough force to make him yelp.  She broke bones; she could feel both the strain and sudden give the break granted.  Even as her higher, more ethical brain tried to right itself and loudly protest to her actions, instinct gleefully pounced with both feet first and ground the complaints into the terrain of her mind.  In a twisted combination of Darwin's theory and result of the inhibitor in her blood, the wounded, tormented, and mildly out-of-control brunette pulled her right hand back and slammed it with lethal force into the guard's throat, crushing his trachea.  

As she stood over his suddenly very lifeless body, her unnaturally green eyes were wide in shock and revulsion.  Shaking with adrenaline and something else entirely, she fought the urge that always came with having to kill.  Then, taking a deep, calming breath, forced her mind to take control again.  The man had stabbed her and had she hesitated for even the slightest of moments, it would be her lying lifeless.  Beyond that, it was a part of her world and even though she hated it, she not only had the skills but the will to take a life.  Where it was regrettable, she could not afford to let this keep her from her escape.

  Repeating the thoughts in her head, she straightened, threw the knife to the side and held her hand to her side to stem the new rush of blood flow.  _'Next time,'_ she thought at herself as she set off once again.  _'Zip up the stupid *Kevlar* lined jacket, you idiot.'_

It was a reaction born out of instinct and had she the moment to think on it, very probably would have been dead. She'd no sooner stepped around the corner of one hall into the next when the blaze of agony erupted across her side. Before her mind could combat both the reaction of survival and ebbed control from the drugs still rampant in her system, her hand closed around the guard's. Hot blood seeped over their joined hands, making his hold slick but not affecting her surprisingly strong grip.

With a cold, methodical, but quick jerk, the knife was out and the young man's arm wrenched back with enough force to make him yelp. She broke bones; she could feel both the strain and sudden give the break granted. Even as her higher, more ethical brain tried to right itself and loudly protest to her actions, instinct gleefully pounced with both feet first and ground the complaints into the terrain of her mind. In a combination of Darwin's theory and result of the uninhibitor in her blood, the wounded, tormented, and mildly out-of-control brunette pulled her right hand back and slammed it with lethal force into the guard's throat, crushing his trachea.

As she stood over his suddenly lifeless body, her unnaturally green eyes were wide in shock and revulsion. Shaking with adrenaline and something else entirely, she fought the urge that always came with having to kill. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, forced her mind to take control again. The man had stabbed her and had she hesitated for even the slightest of moments, it would be her lying lifeless. Beyond that, it was a part of her world and even though she hated it, she not only had the skills but the will to take a life. Where it was regrettable, she could not afford to let this keep her from her escape.

Repeating the thoughts in her head, she straightened, threw the knife to the side, and held her hand to her side to stem the new rush of blood flow. 'Next time,' she thought at herself as she set off once again. 'Zip up the stupid Kevlar lined jacket, you idiot.'

...

It took a bit of navigating to transverse the halls and bypass collapsed roofs, but eventually they made it and he motioned her toward the door hanging ajar. She nodded, motioned for him to wait for her in the hall, and steeled herself before stepping in. It wasn't as bad as she'd feared but still, it wasn't pleasant, knowing what had taken place in this room and to whom. She walked its perimeter; carefully cataloguing everything she saw and committing it to memory. Finally, she crouched over the pool of blood, staring it the vibrant red puddle for a long time before reaching out to touch her fore and middle finger to it.

Her expression remained unreadable as she smeared the still warm crimson against her thumb, her dark eyes transfixed by the sight. Not long ago, people had believed the blood to be the source and very essence of a person, and science had proved them not far wrong. DNA said that the cooling, thick liquid on her fingers bore all that was the young woman, the coding of everything about her from her striking blue eyes to her natural blonde hair. The sight of the blood also spoke another thing to the dark woman crouched over the coagulating stain: her blood was now on her hands.

Standing, she still stared at the crimson for another several seconds before turning to the man standing in the doorway as he watched her. "So why did he have her?" she asked, the question clearly rhetorical in nature.

"Better question," the man corrected, taking a step into the room, absorbing the feel of it before he locked gazes with his friend. "What the hell is she doing here? Last I heard, she's still supposed to be in California saving puppies and whales, or whatever it is this week."

"’Aid, Art, and Humanity Abroad.’” She rattled the name off easily from memory. “Aspiring artists, musicians, and the sort give aid to the people they can and try to share the love of their craft while doing the normal food, medical, and water help thing. I think she works with impoverished kids some of the time," she replied with the faintest of smiles, "Teaching them how to paint, or something."

He lifted her left hand and drew it into both their line of sight. "I don't think that's finger paints, no matter how bright a colour," he said, deliberately ignoring the question of how exactly she knew just what the woman was up to these days.

"I know," was her soft response as she stepped passed him and into the hall, pulling her hand out of his loose grasp as she did. Picking her way carefully though the rubble, she followed the telltale traces of blood along the way for several meters before she came to an intersecting hallway where two men lay. One still had his standard black henchman uniform on, though his vest looked as though it had been rifled through and his knife and guns were missing, but the other lacked his pants, shirt, and vest. His hat was also missing.

She couldn't help but smile at the sight and what it meant, and whispered softly, "Good girl." This meant she at least still had her wits about her and that was always a good thing, especially in what was hostile territory.

Staring down the hallway, Scud asked, his voice holding something very similar to what his companion felt, "You think she got away?"

Lucy smiled wryly. "She was their perfect spy and from the looks of things, still might be. I can't imagine anyone going through what went on in that room only to die on escape," the dark woman replied confidently. She continued to stare down the way they figured the woman to have taken, weighing the question in her mind.

"You want to see if we can catch her?" he asked, echoing the debate raging in his boss' mind. She was opening her mouth to respond when a call from near the stairs pulled their attention in the other direction.

Standing on the last step they'd descended before, a sandy haired woman with a long rifle slung across her back waved them over. "We should be going," she told them, brushing her short hair from her eyes, the hint of her Russian accent ever present, but not obscuring. "We wouldn't want Alibrandi to come back, da?" The woman flashed a grin that spoke of the opposite before narrowing her blue gaze as she took in the pair's bearing and atmosphere, instinctually knowing something at set them off kilter despite the distance that separated her from them. As she moved to ask, Lucy tugged on Scud's arm.

"Kat's right, Scud. We should be off."

"Funny," the man quipped, irrepressible sense of humour bounding up again like an exuberant puppy. "I thought the smell was these two."

Katja shared a long-suffering smile with Lucy as the dark haired woman came up to her. Reaching out, she briefly touched the brunette’s wrist, silently asking what was the matter. Lucy only shook her head and motioned for later before leading the way up the stairs. Katja gave Scud the same inquiring look but he feigned ignorance and shrugged, looking away from the clearly disbelieving quirk of an eyebrow his denial met. Sighing, and shaking her head, the blonde started up the steps.

When he was confident enough that the assassin was far enough away to be out of earshot to his whisper, he exhaled. "Be safe, Amy Bradshaw." He turned and took the stairs two at a time to catch up with Lucy and Katja, studiously ignoring the second inquiring look he received. 'Some times, that damn woman is too perceptive for my own good, damnit!'

...

A number of kilometres and couple of hours later, when she staggered into the café that served as the field office for Venice and collapsed in a bloody, bone-weary heap, she knew it made an impression from the chaotic flurry around her. To be fairly honest though, she didn’t give a damn as she gave up the fight to gravity and dropped, expelling a sigh of relief in no longer having to hold her heavy body up. She was exhausted, in agony, and there was no person in the world that could convince her the cool hardwood floor her too-hot forehead rested on was not ideal place to sleep.

As her contact crouched over and rolled her from her side and almost onto her back, expelling a string of explanative in a variety of languages, she lacked the energy to shrug or even scold him. All she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and have a drink of water to ease the desert her throat had become. In the end, the pull of the blissfully unfeeling unconsciousness was too great, and as her eyes closed, her last thought was not of the mission, her pain, or protocol.

'If I’d gone with her, I’d be on some beach and not bleeding all over the place, feeling like absolute shit. Brilliant call, Bradshaw.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 as originally posted on the 10th of October 2005.

Two Weeks Later...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming here on such short notice. I know many of you were in the middle of assignments, but it was decided that they could all wait, if not be handed over to colleagues. You'll all be proud to learn –undoubtedly- that each and every one of you has been handpicked for your skills, expertise, and reputation for strength in the field. I'm sure if you glance around you, you'll notice that most of your neighbours come from completely different agencies. That should give you an impression of just how vast and complex this operation is.

"I know a great deal of you are already questioning your presence and participation in this, and I'm sure having to sign an agreement that says you'll not speak a word of this to anyone -not even your own agencies- has not helped matters. The truth is, this is very nearly off the books as far as missions go. We have the sanctioning and support of many governments involved, but secrecy is preferred by all of them. It could also mean your life or those of your new colleagues."

As she listened to the words, Max knew she wasn't the only one in the small auditorium wondering just what in the hell she'd walked into. When the orders had come down for her to be assigned to an inter-agency task-force, she'd been pleased and honoured to have been selected. She loved her continued work with the international squad, but if the mission went well, knew it would set her further apart in terms of being an agent. Having to sign separate confidentiality paperwork even before the briefing took place sent warning bells clanging in her head, and the speaker's words only served to elevate their volume. Oh, she wouldn't back out or even reconsider, but it was concerning and that, she would admit.

"My name is Marshal Davis. Some of you know me as the Deputy Director of the CIA, but for the duration of this operation, I've stepped aside to concentrate solely on this," the speaker introduced himself, keeping a slightly wry smile from his lips at the murmur his announcement sent through out the room. Looking around at the assembled agents, he was again reminded of just how young they seemed to get with each subsequent year. The majority of the fifty-odd gathered were probably under thirty-five and many of them appeared even younger. That was part of the reason they'd been selected, but in the end, it came down to the simple fact that despite their age, they were the best. He could only pray that most of them would make it out alive by the time this entire mess was said and done.

"You've been gathered here today because conventional efforts in apprehending a particular underworld identity have failed, and miserably at that." Davis kept his eyes on the assembled before him as he lifted a remote and activated the holographic display, cueing the first image; a handsome, well-dressed man appeared. "This man is Miguel Alibrandi. He's 34, a Leo, and enjoys long walks on the beach to visit the graves of his victims, drug running, people smuggling -children in particular, and sadistically torturing the people who piss him off. The second man," -he cued another image, this one of a tanned, somewhat scruffy looking man with a wide-brimmed hat atop his head- "-is Anthony Blake, his right-hand man and lead interrogator. Alibrandi is an Italian native and Blake, born south of Manchester, England but raised in Australia. How they met, we don't know. What we do is that separate, these two are nasty, but together they are a whole different kind of dangerous and evil then you've ever dealt with before.

"I know many of you must be wondering why so many of you have been gathered for one man, but by the time this briefing is through, you'll understand exactly why it will take all of you and many more to bring him down. You should also be aware of something else: this information bears a high price tag. The highest, in fact: a human life and the torture of another, so when you are listening to the facts and drawing your conclusions, ladies and gentlemen, please remember that price. A woman was tortured to death and another forced to watch before being subjected to it herself for this information."

~~~

"Bradshaw!"

Amy paused and turned mid-step, giving her attention to the one calling for her attention. "Sir?" She ducked her head at the admonishing look she found herself fixed with. "Victor," Amy corrected herself and was granted a smile from her superior and head of NWI, Victor Devlan.

"Thank you. You know things like Mr. Devlan make me feel old and 'sir' gives me the impression I'm supposed to actually be responsible," he gave her another warm smile. Taller than Amy, Devlan very much appeared handsome and distinguished as all his forty or so years afforded him. Though young for his position, early success in the field, an infallible sense of intuition, and a knack for reading not just his people but situations had given him both the resources and backing to set up the black ops unit. "Besides, I like to think that friends don't use such formalities, and after Venice, I most certainly do consider you a friend."

Ducking her head again and returning the smile, Amy blushed faintly. "After Venice, I'll take all the friends I can get," she stated, her voice wry.

Despite being an effective part of it, NWI was considered the 'new kid' in the espionage community and more often that not was treated as such. Few senior agents or veteran spies were willing to take a chance on the fledgling agency, leaving Devlan's recruiting pool isolated to the inexperienced, young, and decidedly dodgy. It also undoubtedly didn't help that most of the damn agencies and their people didn't even know NWI existed in the first place. In true covert fashion, all Night Watch operatives publicly worked at front companies, and as far as the rest of the world -friends and family included- was concerned, had left the playground of espionage.

In the end, it meant NWI possessed one of the most varied and eclectic personnel bases of any agency...that few were actually aware of. In spite, or perhaps even because of this though, they very frequently found themselves at the forefront of operations, in the thick of politically sensitive situations, and all too often without external support. Although they frequently acted anonymously to rescue the collective asses of the intelligence community, very rarely was the favour returned. In Venice, it had her own colleagues that had pulled Amy out, and though they took the fact that they were generally on their own in stride, the Italy op left everyone raw over the lack of inter-agency aid.

"Me too," Victor agreed, knowing exactly what the young woman meant. "About that, how's all the re-cert going?"

Smiling again, Amy had to find some amusement in Victor's way of asking how she was without using the actual words, somehow knowing she was sick of them. "Pretty good," she chose to respond to the question at face value. "I just finished my final psyche review, so all that's left should be the paper work."

Victor nodded. "All up to par, I assume? Oh, and you also did your physicals?" He paused and held up his hand to forestall her response. "Never mind; wet hair. I take it you completed them too?"

Amy flashed a grin. "I did that and grabbed a shower before I went to see Jakob. They pretty much all told me I passed with flying colours and despite what happened two weeks ago, still put them to shame." Her grin widened with pleasure at the compliments. It didn't stem from pride as such, and the words were not a boast; instead, honest delight in the praise.

"Of course you do," he replied, responding to her genuinely happy expression -something he was very grateful to see- with a grin of his own. "Listen, when do you want to get back into the field? I know you've been pushing these last couple of days to do something even if it's just around here, but I want to know from you, right now, if you are up for a briefing."

She gave him a quizzical look before replying. "I'm going a little stir-crazy and despite having all the time to paint, I just don't have my focus for that. If you think I'm ready, I'm more than happy to sit in. To be honest, I'd like to get back in the swing of things now."

Resting his hand on her shoulder the same way a brother or uncle might, Victor cautioned with a wary smile, "Be careful for what you ask, Amy. Some times it isn't quite what we expect and you'll be doing more than sitting in. There have been a number of developments over the last fortnight and your...op two weeks ago seems to have seriously kick-started something."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. Come up to my office in about twenty minutes and we'll go from there," Devlan told her before glancing back as though the thought occurred a touch late. "That'll be enough time, right?"

She had to smile at Victor as she nodded. "That will be plenty. I was just going to stare at my computer and see how Rory and John were."

Nodding as though it were a top-notch idea, he waved her off, knowing the two techs would be able to distract Amy and maybe even cause her to brighten. "Well, as I said, twenty minutes and I'll get those reports read and papers signed."

Even after Victor left for his office, Amy remained where she was, watching as he departed. NWI was a little bit more ragtag, a little bit less professional, and most of its personnel either fresh to the game, impulsive because of that youth, or possessing questionable moments in their past. Strangely enough, that formula made them formidable, unconventional, admittedly somewhat quirky, but also surprisingly effective.

It was all that and more that had led to Amy joining up with Victor Devlan when he'd approached her after Graduation. He had an altruistic passion she could respond too but also possessed a wisdom that spoke of realism and understanding of the grey that existed where others saw only black or white. After Endgame and the events leading up to it, her faith in the D.E.B.S. and her ability to remain a part of them had faltered. For them, the world consisted of a cut-and-dry existence of good and evil with no room in the middle for anything else. Though she'd delivered that speech for them, she'd walked away afterwards, unable to stay with an outfit with such a single-minded focus.

Glancing around her, the blonde gave a fond smile for the place that had come to be home in the last two and a half years. Some here knew of how she was the fabled 'Perfect Score' but most didn't give a damn about a stupid test. Instead, they knew her as Amy, their friend, colleague, and occasional champion against some of Victor's more...questionable ideas. Though she was among the younger personnel, more often than not, she found herself treated with much of the same respect given to Devlan, Jakob, or any of the other senior agents who had taken up with NWI. Whether it was because of her friendly nature or stemmed from something else, Amy wasn't sure and didn't really mind.

She shook the thoughts from her head and wandered down to the area designated for the technological side of the spy business. An absolute geek-haven, its occupants had affectionately dubbed the area ‘the Bridge’, and half the time had the strangest mixtures of music piped through the array of speakers unless an active mission was being run –then, headphones became mandatory. As she ascended the four stairs to the elevated platform, Amy shook her head at the sight of the head-geek, Rory, literally bouncing to the latest dance track on her eclectic playlist.

Across the hub from her, a waifish young man peeked over his multiple-display station to glare at the grinning young woman. Leaping up from his chair, John stabbed his finger in the air at the blue haired Rory and shouted a challenge. "I'll own your ass any day of the week, Atari-girl!"

Rory only laughed the words off before flinging her own good-natured response, "Ha! You couldn't beat me even if I was still on a C-64, monkey boy. I am computer goddess; fall to your knees and worship me, noob!"

"Isn't goddess a bit much?” Amy inquired dryly, her arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow arched.

Spinning her chair around, Rory yelped, "AMY!" before springing out of her chair to grab the blonde in an enthusiastic, if slightly painful hug. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" she grinned, as hyperactive as ever.

Amy had to grab the younger woman's shoulders to keep her balance, all of her faculties not quite what they should be, despite managing to pass all of the requirements. She'd met all the expectations, but had she been entirely truthful and let the strain show, she probably wouldn’t have. "God, you're excitable today," she exhaled.

"It's because she misses you so much," John quipped from behind his computers, flashing Amy a shy smile. "Hi, Amy."

When she finally managed to extricate herself from Rory, Amy wandered over to the young man. "Hey, Johnny." When she saw his screens, she groaned. "Oh, don't tell me you're trying to beat her at Alterquest again. You know she's never been beaten," she shook her head as she ruffled John's hair affectionately; half the time, he reminded her of her younger brother.

Forgetting his normal shyness around the striking blonde, John grinned up at Amy. "Ah, but she has to fall sometime and I figure if I keep thumping on her, I'll have to get lucky."

"Think again, Popsicle-stick man!" Rory crowed from where she bent over her station. From John's speakers came the sound of a spectacular and very impressive death. Dropping back down into her chair with an insufferably pleased grin upon her lips, the young geek began her victory dance even as she sat.

A mischievous grin crossed Amy's lips as she bent down to whisper conspiratorially to the defeated John. "Hey, you suppose she can do her 'mad-victory-geek dance' standing up? I mean, she always does it sitting down."

John started snickering before leaning back to reply with an equally as piratical grin. "I dunno. I reckon she has to sit because we all know how co-ordinated that girl isn't, and if she tried to incorporate footsteps, would prove how lacking she is in the leet-zor department."

"Oi!" Rory yelped indignantly. "You try having legs a mile long and not trip over stray wires and everything!"

Sticking his tongue out at his friend and fellow geek, John retorted, "Amy manages well enough, unlike some klutzes I know."

"You two are worse than children or an old married couple," Amy shook her head. "And you," she mock-glared at John. "Leave me out of it." The three friends shared a laugh before Rory pushed a roller-chair over towards Amy, so that she could sit between the two techs.

"Hey, yer blonde again," the blue haired tech observed a touch late. "Too bad, I though the brunette was kinda sexy," Rory leered with a silly grin.

Rolling her eyes, Amy snorted. "Rory, you think having green, orange, and screaming pink stripes on one side of the head, with alternating blue, red, and purple spikes on the other is sexy. I am not taking that as a compliment or you seriously."

Instead of being offended, the young woman tipped her head back against the headrest on her chair and laughed. "Touché, monsieur pussy-cat. Touché. But seriously, it looks good on you, but then you do kinda suit being a blonde...not that you can't pull any of the different colours off," Rory amended with a grin. "But I gotta admit to being a fan of the baby blues, no matter how nifty the contacts were. Although, I bet we could even do you all black and purple and everything and it would be wicked."

"What, Goth-Amy?" John quipped from his side of the Bridge. “What about that tan though? You can’t seriously be a native Californian and a pasty Goth-chick.”

Giving a long-suffering sigh, Amy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. "You two are dorks," she said with an affectionate grin. "And you also are exactly what I needed," she added.

Rory traded a pleased and proud smile with John and they both commenced with their much more low-key geek dance, which involved moves that looked suspiciously like those characteristic of disco. "So, you're all finished with the post-incident re-cert?" Rory asked a few minutes later.

"Should be," Amy replied, leaning back in her chair with her long legs stretched out before her. Unlike Rory, who managed to end up in a bone-less sprawl no matter where she sat, Amy crossed her legs at the ankle neatly. "Hey, you two hear anything about this briefing Devlan is having me attend with him today?" This time, the look Rory and John exchanged was long and complex. "What?" Amy asked, a touch confused.

"A big inter-agency task-force has been set up with the sole purpose of catching Miguel Alibrandi," Rory finally answered. "Evidently, your nearly being killed and Kris' death was enough to make the bastards realise we have a problem...something we've only been telling them for how damn long?" The words were coloured with disgust, anger, and frustration, something everyone at NWI felt in relation to the rest of the agencies.

"Oh," was Amy's simple answer.

"But, hey, look on the bright side of things, I guess we get another crack at the fu-bastard," John quickly altered his choice of insults, making Amy roll her eyes again in amusement. For some reason she still had yet to figure out, nearly everyone Amy worked with curbed their language in normal conversation whenever she was around. Instead of being insulted at the thought that they might think her too conservative, she found it endearing and even sweet –aside from being mildly quirky in a chivalrous sense. Something about the blonde seemed to bring out everyone's gallant side; not even Lucy Diamond had proven immune to it.

"In some ways, I would like nothing more than to pay him back, but in others, if I never had to see Alibrandi again, it would be too soon." She shivered at the memory.

Rory gave the blonde a purely diabolical grin. "Oh, but think: this time, you'll have the drop on him. He got lucky before, now yer ready for him and we all know just how dangerous 'AB' can be, don't we Johnny?"

Returning the grin with one of his own and equally as nasty, John nodded. "Damn straight! Plus, this time, we'll be keeping an eye on her, and no one gets passed us."

Warmed, amused, and even a little reassured by her friends words, Amy smiled and pushed herself to her feet. "As much fun as it is sitting here listening to you to stroke my ego and each other's, I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Victor in about five minutes and I'm still sore after sparring with Sam this morning."

Both Rory and John stood and stepped forward to give her a hug good-bye. Though not normally all that expressive in emotions -a hazard of the job being that one learned to compartmentalise, both threw hold habits to the wind in favour of letting their friend know again how happy they were to see her up and about. With her arms around Amy's shoulders, Rory whispered before letting her go, "We're damn happy to see you doing better, Amy. And I swear, before this is done, we’ll own that bastard."

"Thanks," she responded, truly grateful and appreciative of the words and sentiment behind them.

~~~

Reading through the last of the documents on his desk and drafting the formal paperwork needed to reinstate Amy to full status, Devlan glanced up as the final report came in. "Ah, Jakob, good." He stood and motioned to the leather chairs in front of his desk and waited for the older man to be seated before taking the other chair beside him. It was a subtle thing, this removing the barriers of superiority, but he found most of his people responded well to it. "How's our girl?"

Jakob considered the question long and hard, as he had for the last half hour when Amy departed his office. "As always, that lass' head is worse than Troy and no horse'll get through those walls," he stated, his voice gentle, soothing, and not at all rushed. Everything about Jakob was relaxed and in his line of work, helped immensely to calm the subjects of his probing and scrutiny. Of course, being eighty odd years old and a great-great grandfather multiple times over helped there too.

"Considering her past and her skills, that's kind of to be expected," Victor commented with a smile as he rose and prepared a scotch for them both. Jakob accepted the tumbler with a nod of thanks.

"Aye, I know, but the last few times we've spoken, Amy and I, I get the feeling there's something that bothers her. Not directly and I don't believe will interfere with her ability to preform in the field, but it is a concern and something that bears watching."

Victor nodded, having sensed the same thing in the preceding months. "And Venice?"

"As well as might be expected for any young woman to watch a friend tortured to death, be subjected to the very same torture herself, and then have to provide one's own rescue. It has been only two weeks and ideally, she should be no where near this world but because no one in her life is even aware," Jakob sighed. "Perhaps the best thing for her is to jump back in with both feet. I am certifying her fit for full field duty, but with the recommendation of her not being solo. There will be ramifications from this, Victor. It simply becomes a matter of when, how, and where."

Nodding, Devlan mulled over the older man's words. "Thank you for your honesty, Jakob. I'm reinstating Amy, but will make sure your recommendations are heeded. I fear though how she will respond to what is set to happen in the next few weeks. Physically and mentally, she's already been through hell but with what she'll be asked..." Victor shared a sad smile with Jakob. "I can only pray Amy will come out of this in one peace and some shred of sanity.

"Aye." Jakob echoed before sharing the wisdom Victor valued him so much for. "The young are resilient though," the grandfather observed. "-and possess the ability to come back from many things, and maybe what has been suggested will be the push she needs to find what she's been searching."

"I hope so, Jakob. I sure as hell hope so; for Amy's sake."

~~~

A couple of hours later and number of gruesome slides and videos later, they broke for lunch -something Janet was not sure she was up for. Specific assignments would be detailed after, but they had an hour to 'eat, get to know one another, and find their guts.' The director was weird, she'd decided through the course of the briefing and the fact made her miss Mr. P all the more. Following an assorted group of her new workmates, Janet let her mind wander over the recent past; two years on and while some things had changed, whilst others had stubbornly remained the same.

After Endgame, she'd been awarded her coveted stripes and been able to graduate, but before Max had given them to her, she'd already made a hard choice. Instead of continuing on with the D.E.B.S., Janet had been extremely surprised to be approached by the Secret Service and had accepted a position with them. Now, she was actually one of their more successful agents -the occasional mishap not withstanding- and was very happy as she chased down counter fitters and protected important people. As of that date, not one of her charges had so much as a hair on their head harmed...okay, the Australian Minister for Diplomatic affairs had taken a slight tumble off the stage, but a lot of people had come up and had thanked her afterwards! The man could not sing, and custom or no, the karaoke for the closing talks of the annual Indo-Pacific summit was a really bad idea. Besides, Downer hadn't even been the one she was protecting that night...

"Carmody." The tone her name was spoken with lacked emotion or warmth, but very nearly made her smile, especially when she lifted her gaze to take in its owner. Max Brewer stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, a dispassionate expression on her dark features.

Inclining her head in a polite nod, Janet calmly returned the greeting in kind. "Brewer."

All around them in the cafeteria and line in which they stood, Janet could feel the speculative glances and whispers. This was a game they played regularly, to see what rumours began and how they evolved. They could have been accused of being childish, but being as they were at the centre of the gossip, they considered it fair trade. Every time Janet and Max met publicly or professionally, their meetings were cool, polite, and highly impersonal.

It had started when Max went on to join the International Squad with the D.E.B.S. and Janet had not. In truth, they were better friends than before and despite an unsettling start, they'd managed to find a comfortable rapport. Most were unaware of that fact and heard rumours of the past and so the occasional times the D.E.B.S. and Secret Service had crossed paths on a mission or function, they fed the rumours of a great dislike between the two.

"So, what do you think of our boy?" Mask asked, her tone professionally pleasant, though her dark eyes hid a private mirth.

"I'm wondering why it took so long for them to put together a team to catch him," Janet responded. "And I'm also thinking I'm skipping lunch." She picked up a strange juice mixture without really looking at the label.

Max flashed a feral smile. "Weak stomach, soldier?" she shook her head, as if in disappointment. Janet noted with some amusement though that the other woman too forwent any heavy food, grabbing something light instead. "Not that anyone else could be blamed for that," she admitted making a face. "Sick bastard."

"Exactly," Janet nodded as she handed over a few bills to cover both their selections and ignored the glare she received for the gesture. In fact, she returned it with a bright smile.

~~~

Both of them wore long coats typical to those in their trade and so utterly ubiquitous Amy half-expected for them to have been issued to everyone upon graduation. In any case, the fact that they both also wore similar suits and moved with a clear purpose made them appear like every other government worker. Devlan guided Amy, being as he'd actually set foot in the Central Intelligence Agency's Los Angeles headquarters before, where the young woman had not.

"We're walking into this about half-way through, but it's been a re-hash of what we already know," Victor told her. "They should actually be on break for lunch at the moment. I'll warn you now; part of your cover is going to be broken the moment you step through that door. There are agents in there who you know but aren't aware of your being with Night Watch. For the sake of this op though, you -unfortunately- have to step out of the shadows and show the intelligence community that you never left."

"Is that wise?" Secrecy was one of their greatest assets, even from their allies, and through the years, had served her well. With the notoriety of being the fabled perfect spy, Amy could do little in the world where going unnoticed kept you alive. When no one knew who she was, she could be literally anybody and play any role that was needed, letting her use the skills that gave her the stupid fame in the first place. Before, she was a figurehead, an image on a poster, but now, she was worthy of the title even if she didn't want it.

"I believe so, and a great deal of this mission will be riding on whether or not you participate. Your presence is what could seriously make or break this op." Amy's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm not exaggerating and some in there will disagree with me, but I know you, your past, and what we are looking to go up against."

Blowing out a slow breath, the young woman let herself absorb the information. While part of her was insanely happy at being specifically required for the mission, it did nothing to ebb the apprehension at what in her past mattered so much for the present and near future. Victor knew the in's and out's of her spy career including the entire Diamond affair -in fact, he'd proven to be one of the fair few who seemed to understand in that story, Lucy was not the villain. "Okay," Amy drew the word out and nodded, choosing to trust the man who'd always done right by her.

"Thank you," he said quietly as they came to a stop at a desk, warmed at Amy's unwavering faith in him. "Victor Devlan, for a briefing. Marshal Davis should have left a note about our late arrival," Victor spoke to the woman behind the wood partition.

Probably older than Devlan, she fixed them both with an intense gaze, giving the senior agent the sensation of being a naughty schoolboy. Finally, she nodded, "I'll just need to see both of your ID and both signatures before I can buzz you through."

"Of course," he said, pulling out the leather display case that housed his identification and NWI seal.

The receptionist took the ID and examined it, arching a severe eyebrow before placing it under a scanner. She looked to her left at a computer screen and waited for the authentication to appear; when it did, she handed it back with more respect than before. "Here you are Mr. Devlan, and if you could sign here," she handed him an electronic notepad. "And place your right palm on the screen when you’re finished." When all that was completed, and verified, she nodded at him. "Perfect." She turned to Amy and started the same process.

As always, the stark white bandages stood out against the tanned skin of her hands and wrists and also as always, drew attention and speculation. When the woman handed back her ID and the notebook for her signature, she froze to stare at Amy's hands, her mind no doubt concocting one insulting scenario after another. Why was it whenever anybody saw bandages on your wrist, they automatically assumed that?

Fighting the annoyance that bubbled up, Amy bit back on a sigh, and took the plastic stylus and signed her name. As she completed the last curve of her surname -something she had to steadily recall as she normally used the name 'Anderson' in place of her own, she handed the pen back. Carefully, she unravelled part of the bandage and steadily ignored both the woman and the still tender cuts as she gingerly placed her hand on the cool screen. When she heard the computer signify her identity as authentic, she pulled her hand back, re-wrapped it, and with as much care as she could remember, shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

For the first time in a while, Amy had the sensation of being some sort of novelty when her details popped up on the screen and the receptionist took a glance at them and saw the name; staring from Amy to the screen, to Amy again, and then back to the screen, her eyes widened in the typical reaction. The young woman shot Victor an imploring and uncomfortable look, making him clear his throat. He offered a charming and warm smile to the woman. "Everything in order, Aggie?" he asked, using his near perfect memory to remember her name.

It seemed enough to remind her of her manners and she nodded. "Of course. Go on through, I'm sure Director Davis is waiting for you in the briefing auditorium."

"Sorry about that," he murmured, honestly meaning it. "I forgot some people still stare at you like you're a celebrity. Of course, in our little world, I suppose you are in a way." Amy sent a look Victor's way that pretty much said 'You're not helping' and made him laugh. After a moment or two, she finally smiled but he noticed she kept her hands firmly in her coat pockets.

~~~

Half an hour later in a secluded corner of an open courtyard, the two old friends talked without the games of before. Max was in the midst of some animated re-enactment as Janet laughed along with her, genuinely amused. In a lull, Janet asked something she'd been wondering since a brief account of the Venice op had been outlined before the break. "So, do you think they'll bring in the agent who was on the mission?" She didn't have to specify which one; the images and descriptions still lingered in their minds.

"Only as a consultant," Max responded confidently.

"You don't think they'll let her take an active role?"

"Are you nuts?" Max asked without any hostility. "After what she went through, she's probably a head case. Putting her back in the field so soon would be a gross display of irresponsibility and on this operation would be madness," she said with the passion of a leader.

Smiling at the thought of what was behind Max's words, Janet nodded. "You're probably right. Blunt, but right." She grinned.

Nodding, and returning the smile, Max lapsed into silence as both their minds followed the inevitable path back to the mission gone horribly awry. In an effort to shake the pictures from her mind, Max glanced up at the blonde before returning her gaze to her half-eaten sandwich. "Hey, Janet?"

Focusing her the woman who'd found her way to being one of her best friends, Janet couldn't help but smile at the sight of Max actually being tentative. It was amazing how having her skills acknowledged and being recognised as a truly exceptional agent in her own right had led to a more laid-back Max. She was still very much boarder-line psychotic -she wouldn't be Max if she wasn't, but in the down moments, she wasn't nearly as high strung and it did wonders for personal relationships. Theirs was the perfect example of that fact.

"Yeah, Max?" Janet pushed her wandering reflections to the side.

"Have you seen Amy lately?"

Smiling softly at the woman who still wasn't looking at her, Janet shook her head mentally at her two friends. Max and Amy had managed to move beyond the past and get over the rocky time surrounding Endgame and like Janet and Max before, had settled into being better friends than before. Whether she was disappointed in Amy as a spy for leaving the espionage world, Max had never said but as she was finally no longer under the shadow of her friend, it had greatly reduced the tension in their relationship. She'd even made an effort to understand Amy's stance where Lucy Diamond was concerned, and that was saying a hell of a lot.

"About three weeks ago, now, I think," Janet replied, frowning at the thought that it had been that long. "This last month has been insane, you know?"

Max nodded. "Definitely. I was just wondering... Does something seem off about her? I don't mean in a big way, but just..." she looked for the appropriate words.

"Not exactly right?" Janet offered, knowing what Max meant.

"Kind of. She was a bit distracted when I saw her earlier this month. Actually, I think it was probably the same time you saw her," she said with a similar frown.

"Oh, that reminds me! Did you get those photos of Amy being mauled to death by the puppies?" Janet asked, sharing a laugh with Max at the memory of the blonde covered in a mass of retriever and Shepard pups.

"Yeah, I actually have them with me in my bag," she responded with a grin and turned to reach into the backpack she'd taken to having around, only to find it wasn't beside her. "Damn. I think I left it back in the room," the dark woman muttered. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes with them."

As Max made her way back to the conference auditorium she paused outside the door, a young woman at the other end of the hall catching her attention. For the briefest of moments, she actually thought it was Amy before shaking her head at the absurdity of the notion. When the dark woman turned back to the room she caught the sound of Director Davis in a heated argument with another man, and though she didn't mean to, instinct kicked in and stayed her hand from pushing open the door.

"Are you insane?! Two weeks after the fact and you want to throw her back into this? She's a liability, Devlan, and you know it! Anything could set her off and this mission is too delicate, too important to risk on the mental stability of that young woman. She isn't even back at full field status!"

'Well, there goes that theory...' Max thought at the implications of Davis' words.

"Yes, she is, Marshal," the other man -Devlan- responded calmly in sharp contrast to the excited shouts of the Director. "I signed the paperwork this afternoon and she's been given the all clear for every requirement."

"That's absurd, Victor. That girl should be nowhere near this. Have you forgotten already she was tortured? That she watched her partner slaughtered before her eyes?!" Max blinked in surprise at the statement. They'd been told that an agent had died and another tortured, but not that it they'd been partnered. "Let's also not forget the fact that she was shot, stabbed, and suffered any other number of injuries before she had to aggravate them further by escaping."

Max jumped slightly at the sudden sound of a solid thump as Devlan slammed his hand down on the desk at the foot of the auditorium. "Which if you'd got off your lazy ass wouldn't have had to happen!" Devlan snarled back, anger clear in his voice. "We asked for your fucking help in extracting her. You turned your back on her." The man jabbed the accusation at Davis as deftly as one would wield a knife. "And I know about her injuries, you son of a bitch. I saw them first hand when she staggered into our safe house in Venice and collapsed in a bloody, bruised, and broken heap, so don't you dare try and tell me anything about what happened. You've only read it on a fucking piece of paper."

There was a long pause she figured was filled with much glaring and from the lack of explosive response, much guilt on Davis' part. The very thought that Devlan's words were the truth made Max sick with disgust that an agent had been so clearly left to hang.

"She's a risk, Victor," Marshal finally spoke, his voice calm.

"And she's the only one who can pull this off, Marshal," Victor responded with the same quiet tone. "You've always trusted my judgement before, why doubt me now when it is most important?"

"Because where she's concerned, I think your judgement's clouded."

From the silence, Max knew the statement took Devlan aback. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded with both indignation and offence colouring his tone.

"Oh, relax. I don't mean like that, you idiot." It was suddenly clear to Max the men were old friends, and she understood why they could swear, yell, and insult each other and not be terribly bothered over the fact. "I mean the fact that if Maggie were still alive they'd be about the same age, wouldn't they? You have a fondness for the young woman that while it serves you both well, makes it harder to see the full picture when she is part of it."

"Marshal, she is literally the best person for the op and it's something you damn well know. You send anybody else in there to offer that proposal -and that's even assuming you can get her to come- and they'll be dead before they get to the front door."

"What makes you so sure she'll be any more successful?"

"Because she's done it before," he left the statement to hang and for Marshal to make the connection. It took several seconds, but the man finally made the leap.

"But...I thought the only person... Wait... You're not seriously telling me..."

"Yes, Marshal. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"You mean...all along?!" Max couldn't see the grin Devlan gave as an answer. "You crafty bastard!" Marshal finally exclaimed, having a good laugh at his and the entire intelligence community's expense. "Victor, you've managed a few brilliant strokes over the years, but that... That, my friend, takes the cake, frosting, and all."

"I'm glad you think so. Now, you know why I sit and smile whenever you lot deliver jabs at my personnel when we have drinks."

"You're a bastard. A clever one, but a bastard nonetheless."

"Now, do you understand why she has to be on this op?"

"You think she can produce a replay of last time."

"Not exactly, but I honestly believe that if any one has a chance in hell of asking that particular known criminal for help, it's her."

Thoroughly intrigued and more than a little confused, Max backed away from the door, getting the impression she'd probably heard more than any of them were supposed to. Left with enough to think about for the next week, she made her way back to where Janet sat. Inside the room, Devlan and Davis continued without their unknown audience.

"Look, Marshal, I'd be lying if I said I didn't share some of your concerns and personally, I'd prefer she’s never in the same time zone as Miguel Alibrandi. But, the truth remains, if we are going to have any hope in hell whatsoever of catching that bastard, Amy Bradshaw has got to be a part of this."

~~~

As all of the recruited agents and spy personnel filed back into the room, Victor turned back to look at Amy. "Are you ready for this?" he asked.

"No," she responded with complete and utter honestly. "But then, I don't think I'd ever be up for telling a good portion of the worlds espionage outfits that I never left. Especially not as a couple of my friends who've believed for the last two years that I was leading a normal life just walked into the auditorium."

"If they're your friends, they'll understand."

Amy gave Devlan a somewhat sad smile. "But how many times can a person take being lied to? This time, they might not forgive me."

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Trust me, they'd be complete and utter idiots not to. If they love you, forgiveness is easy."

Victor spared a moment to look Amy over and an unconscious grin tugged at his lips. They both still wore their coats, but as Amy stood there she couldn't have picked a better way of being reintroduced to the espionage community or to represent NWI. The dark dress-suit gave her a professional air, but the still-hidden wrapping on her hands, butterfly bandage across the cut over her left eyebrow, lingering purple and blue on her cheek, and the only partially healed cut and bruise on her jaw sent the clear message that she was in a dangerous line of business. He hated to think in such a manner, but the visual reminder of her ordeal would work in her favour and remind those she was about to meet that their work was very serious. Not only that, she perfectly embodied everything about NWI; its youth, its somewhat grey areas, and its ability to completely take people off guard. "C'mon, let's get this over with," he suggested, leading her over to the door after the last of the agents shuffled back in and had time to sit.

Amy stayed out of the line of sight for those seated, while Victor stood just inside the doorway, still shielding her as he nodded to Marshal. Taking his cue, Davis stepped up to the raised platform and waited a few seconds to be sure he had the attention of everyone in the room. "Thank you. While you were out, the last of the major task-force agents arrived and if you would please give him the same attention you've given to me, I'd like to introduce you to the man who will be running day-to-day operations. Some of you may have met him, others may have not, but you have all benefited thorough his expertise and brilliance in the field. You could not ask for a better field-director. Victor Devlan of NWI."

Victor took the moment to roll his eyes at Amy and give her a reassuring smile before walking in. "Hello, and I hope Marshal hasn't managed to bore you to complete tears," Victor said with a smile to his audience. "I know many of you are probably still trying to digest a lot of the information you've been force-fed this morning, and I'm going to have to ask you to bear with me a little while longer. I could probably stand here and wax poetic for the next quarter hour about how noble a sacrifice this mission is and how we have a duty to catch the bastard that Alibrandi is, but I'd fall asleep myself. I also have a better way of giving you an idea of just why we have to stop him.

"I have someone with me today whom some of you are going to be working very closely with and others will have met before. Some of you know her very well, in fact, while others have only heard of her previously. Two weeks ago on what should have been a routine mission, one of my agents lost her life, tortured to death. She was a friend and a damn fine operative and for her death alone, I would want that man caught but what he did to my other agent, I'll admit I want him dead." Victor ignored the panicked look on Davis' face.

"You were all told of the agent who gave so much to get what we needed to confirm what we at NWI already knew about Alibrandi. That she watched a friend and colleague tortured and murdered before having the same put to her. But what you don't know is that she had to rescue herself because there was no back up. She shouldn't have been there alone with only her partner, but because we all work separately, she was. What she went through confirmed a number of things, not only that Miguel Alibrandi is a sick bastard who very much needs to be stopped, but that if we are going to have any hope in hell of doing so, we have to work together. We can't let things like what happened two weeks ago in Venice happen again. For one thing, not every agent is of the same calibre as Amy Bradshaw."

As Amy stood in the doorway, staring at Victor at the unexpected introduction, a single thought ran through her mind as all the eyes in the room -including those of Max and Janet- slowly, yet surely turned towards her. 'Forget Alibrandi. I'm going to kill Victor.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, as originally posted on October the 15th, 2005 at All Things Debs

Chapter 2

 

Staring at the screen, Lucy blew a long breath out as the computer continued in refusing to yield the information she wanted. Two weeks on and neither Scud nor Lucy had any luck in uncovering Amy's fate after Italy. She'd reappeared in LA after nearly a week, having seemingly being away with AAHA and in that time, they'd been unable to turn up anything that suggested the blonde was anything other than a well-meaning young woman who worked to help others. Nothing about Amy gave any indication that she was till in the intelligence business and Lucy made a point in knowing exactly what was cover and what was not. Even with that in mind though, she couldn't find any other conclusion than that AAHA was what it claimed to be.

The organisation had to be a front for something more covert, but which group, she didn't know. The thing was, Lucy maintained a close watch on the various agencies, but absolutely no one had ever given any indication or mention of Amy Bradshaw since July 2005. In the last two weeks, nothing had changed and though something was afoot -something massive and international- there was nothing that said Amy was involved. If Lucy hadn't seen the footage herself in Venice or tested the blood on her hands, she would have thought it a simple, truthless rumour.

It wasn't though, Amy had been in Italy a fortnight ago, but other than the little they'd been able to reconstruct at Alibrandi's stronghold, there was no trace of the blonde. If anything else, there was more evidence of her being in Mexico helping out in a quake-ravaged country town than Europe. That was what Lucy couldn't logic out or find an explanation for; in the last two years, everything supported Amy's public work with Aid, Art, and Humanities Abroad. For all intents and purposes, there was nothing corroborating what Lucy knew other than the fact that Scud had seen it too. If it had only been her, she could have possibly chalked it up to too many late nights and going a little nuts, but a second person said it was either real, or something in the water.

Nothing truly made complete sense though, other than the all too simple explanation of a clandestine organisation behind it all, working beneath even the radar of not only the American's intelligence bureaus, but also Interpol and the Brits' as well. She had to wonder though, would the feds, cops, and good guys really let themselves not know everything that was going on, especially if it was right under their noses? They were really annoying in that way: always having to know exactly what was going on where and specifically with whom. Unless they truly didn't know and who ever Amy worked with wasn't entirely good and just. Maybe they were a rogue outfit that not even the D.E.B.S., CIA, or MI6 knew about?

No. Lucy shook her head, unable to see the possibility of Amy actually working against what she claimed to believe in. If she hadn't even been willing to run off with a reformed thief and follow her dreams, she sure as hell wouldn't leave the D.E.B.S. to become a criminal herself. Would she? As much as she hated to admit it, Lucy wasn't very sure how much she actually knew about Amy Bradshaw anymore. The girl was prize spy to an international organisation out for her blood, surely they would have taught their girls how to deceive. And for that matter, what if they'd done a number on her after she'd returned? What if that entire fiasco nearly three years ago had completely screwed up Amy's head and in an effort to make her see their way, they'd totally fucked her over?

No, that was just a stupid thought as before, wasn't it?

With a frustrated growl at her fragmented and crazy thought pattern, Lucy shoved her chair back and stood. Stalking away from the stubborn computer, the dark woman crossed the spacious office over to the large bay windows that looked out over the sprawling cityscape. She wanted answers, but for the first time, they just weren't coming and the fact was vexing. The worst part was, Lucy didn't trust anybody enough to run the searches and Scud for all his being the logistics man had come up with even less than the tiny amount she had.

Releasing a long, deep sigh, Lucy pulled the glass door aside and stepped out into the warm South American sun on the balcony. She rested her folded arms on the railing and glanced down the dizzying drop to the streets below. Far behind her and from the same place she'd watched the thief from for the last half hour, Katja's dark teal gaze remained as unreadable as ever. The assassin released her own sigh and pushed off the wall upon which her shoulder had rested, departing as silently and as unnoticed as she'd come.

~~~

At first, she wondered if it was all one sick joke. Amy wasn't a spy. She worked with an organisation that gave aid to those who needed and wanted it and helped rescue the abused. She still saved the world one puppy or under-privileged kid at a time, and despite what Max's eyes were telling her, Amy was not a super-secret spy unknown to even the intelligence community. At least, she wasn't until the young woman walked somewhat hesitantly into the room, surprising all but one of the occupants. Max realised then, from the hint of quiet insecurity Amy always possessed, it to be the truth; then, something happened that surprised even her. With the boldness learned in the field and determination to shake the annoying paralysis of doubt, the young woman straightened her shoulders and pulled her professional mask into place.

It was something Max had never seen before. Even as the Perfect Score, or maybe even because of it, Amy always had a hint of questioning worry about her. It was always as though she never believed in her abilities, even if everyone else did. Very rarely did Max ever see Amy without it and the times that she did, a paintbrush, charcoal, or pencil was in her hand. This confident woman who bore the mark of experience and hard fieldwork was something completely alien to Max, and as hard as she kicked the thought away, the question lingered in her mind. Did she even know who Amy was anymore?

Halfway across the room, Victor's grin went completely unnoticed by everyone else far too captivated to be aware of it. As he'd constantly thought and said, Amy not only embodied everything about NWI, but as far as spies went, she had the right mixture to give her the perfect air of believability. She didn't have the suave, bold charm of the James Bond type, but neither did she adopt the mysterious and quiet persona of a sneaky agent. Instead, of all things for a spy to project, she displayed a devastating honesty that everyone responded to. There was just something about Amy that rang true and as she crossed the distance towards Victor, he saw the quiet confidence, muted vulnerability, honest openness, and clear competence he so highly valued.

Despite being mildly battered and bearing the bruises of the prior weeks, she was still a sight to behold. Amy was always striking, but today the young woman wore defiance as another would a garment with the undeniable undercurrent of blunt rebellion. Her body language spoke very clear words with the message of 'yes, I'm here, you thought I wasn't, but I am, so deal with it.' Victor had never been prouder than in that moment when the young woman stepped out of the shadows of anonymity and claimed her rightful place amongst her peers.

She had time to direct a baleful glare at Devlan before the inevitable murmur of questions and furtive glances of awe began. After that, every look the blue eyes shot at him was laced with superficial anger and the promise of revenge later.

"Amy?"

Max's voice was most distinct of all and very nearly made the blonde wince. Instead, Amy looked over to where the D.E.B. and Janet sat, the latter staring openly at her. She gave a faint, apologetic smile and lifted a hand in a slight wave.

"You..." In a very similar way to the mental obstacle course Davis had taken earlier, Max made several connections in the span of a few seconds. "You're still a spy." Max glanced away, an unreadable expression crossing her dark features. "You're still the spy."

Amy gave a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose." A moment later, she said, "I'm just me; who I've always been. The only difference is now everyone here knows." She gestured vaguely at everybody in the room.

Like a dog watching a treat waved about his nose, Janet's eyes followed the very abrupt change from the tan of Amy's hands to the bold white of the gauze around her wrists. Her gaze took in the distinctive mark along the blonde's jaw and knew instinctively what had caused it before trailing up passed the healing discolouration upon her cheek to the cut across Amy's brow. Those few visual prompts led the parade of details unravelled over the course of the morning through her mind. "Oh, my god," she exhaled before completely ignoring the others in the room as she saw only her abused friend.

Janet was out of her seat and wrapping her arms around the taller blonde before Amy had time to register her friend's move. Despite the rush of emotion she felt and subsequent ignoring of everything else, Janet displayed a touching care in the gentleness of the hug. The unexpected embrace and thought was very nearly Amy's undoing, and as she returned the pressure, her composure faltered just a little. Closing her eyes against the suffocating tightness suddenly constricting her chest, Amy tightened her arms around Janet's shoulders.

Mindful of the audience, Janet loosened her arms and took a step back after a long moment. She reached up and tucked a lock of loose hair behind Amy's ear, her fingers brushing the bruise on her cheek with feather-soft gentleness. Just as many before her, the normally very quirky and bright blonde experienced a rush of cold fury and promised lethal ill upon Miguel; the difference being that Janet's brand of retribution was bound to be twisted. "I can't believe you never told us," she finally said without the accusation Amy expected.

"No one knew," Amy responded. "We thought it was the best way to keep me effective in the field. If everyone knew me..."

"You would have been called out on your first mission," Max finished. Some how, she kept a similar reaction to Janet's from playing across her face and recognised the motivation behind the secrecy. She was angry at the lack of trust and hurt, but the analytical part of her mind made sure to knock her more emotional reaction into line for another private time.

Grateful Max seemed to understand, Amy nodded. "Exactly. If it makes any difference though, I am sorry."

Making a slight clucking noise with her tongue, Janet replied with a hint of scolding, "Of course it does."

Victor touched Amy on the shoulder. "Why don't you take a seat with Special Agent Carmody and Agent Brewer? Feel free to throw in comments as we go, but at least you won't have to stand by me," he told her with a smile.

Nodding, Amy let Janet lead her over to where Max sat and directed her towards a seat between them. Not taking the indicated chair, Amy waited until Max gave the faintest hint of a smile and nodded to the seat. They might have to have a long talk about trust and telling the entire truth to one's best friends later, but for now, they were okay. Amy released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and expelled a great deal of rigid tension from her shoulders as she sat.

Settling into the surprisingly comfortable auditorium seat, Amy let most of her attention remain on Victor, while the part of her mind that very rarely relaxed remained hyper-aware of all her surroundings. Though the young woman appeared causally sedate, she was very conscious of everything around her from the agents behind her to the Director playing with his PDA, the ATF guy three rows up and nine seats to the left up to the second knuckle, and the tech preparing booklets for everyone. Beside her in a silent, but subtle, display of warmth and support, Max's knee rested against Amy's, the physical contact conveying a clear message. Max wasn't great with words, but she was a definite example of actions over words.

On the blonde's other side, Janet had looped her arm around Amy's and leaned slightly against her friend's left shoulder in her own display. The gesture brought a faint smile to the young woman's lips; she'd managed to forget how tactile Janet became when she launched into protective mode. The last time Amy had seen limpet-Janet had been the skiing disaster at Christmas last year when her knee had met a tree rather unexpectedly. As though reminded by the thought, the old injury aggravated with recent events gave a twinge, provoking Amy stretched out her left leg.

A few metres in front of her, Victor began to outline the basic mission parameters. "As with everyone we go after, we want not only Alibrandi, but his entire operation. Not only is he into drug and arms-running we have confirmation on his involvement in the human smuggling business. Through the efforts of agents Bradshaw and Michaels in Venice two weeks ago, we finally had the information to crack into Alibrandi's network. In that time, my best team of experts have spent every minute available deciphering, cataloguing, and analysing the data as it comes it. We knew Alibrandi's operation was big, but we didn't realise it was this big."

Devlan tapped the touch screen in front of him and behind a holographic display activated. A photo of Alibrandi appeared with his name beneath it and Amy was barely able to suppress the reflexive shudder. Both Max and Janet caught the hint of the tremble, interpreted it, and wordlessly leaned a little more against her.

From the Italian's image, twelve lines splintered a short distance and another series of photo's appeared, Blake's among them. Amy felt a rush of something dark that very nearly made her growl in response. "This is only the first level of associations Alibrandi has and if you're current on the major players in the underworld, you'll notice some very familiar faces or organisations." Victor touched one of the twelve at random on his screen and the area designated 'Indo-China' maximised. "For example: in this region -like most of the others- each step you descend, the rats get bigger and more numerous." He chose an opium organisation, then a general linked to it, the American, Chinese, and British buyers, and at each, major links to the original twelve appeared. "As you can tell by that, the amount of connections Alibrandi has are unbelievable and seems to only grow as we probe. How deep this rabbit hole goes, we have no bloody idea."

It was the first time Amy had a chance to see the vastness of the ever-growing network so clearly displayed and as much as she hated to admit it, it was impressive. "The reason why we've never classified Alibrandi as a threat is because until this point we had no idea. The other thing is, despite the absolute massive complexity of the operation, Miguel isn't actually the front man or pursued international notoriety. He isn't strictly the most powerful in the network, but he is the one with the contacts. As far as organised crime goes, he's the puppet master and that is what makes him extremely desirable to catch. If we can pull this off and either flip Alibrandi or crack his operation open, it gives us access to the likes of the Russian mafia, Yazuka, terrorist cells in the east, Africa, and Europe, assorted US mob families, drug and people smugglers in the Asian-Pacific region, corrupt officials, and the list just continues to go on. Alibrandi may appear a little fish in the who's who of the underworld but his power comes from who he knows and their organisation becomes his through his support."

"So, you mean he's like the Mitsubishi Company? They have their hands in everything from the automobiles we drive, to the electronics in our houses, to the very pens we use. We just at least can find their name on the stuff, were we haven't with him?" someone asked.

Victor grinned. "Or even like a company called SGS. Any of you heard of it?"

A few seats over from Janet a young man shifted and spoke up. "My parents in Anacortes, Washington work for them as marine survivors."

His grin widened as Victor nodded. "That's what most people know them for, but, in truth, the company owns the Royal Bank of Canada, Citibank, Wells Fargo, along with ones in Italy, Britain, and a few other countries. SGS is made up of seven banking families, but you'd have no idea from the fact that they are known more for surveying and the fertiliser business."

"Whoa." The young CIA agent sat back, clearly surprised. "So, Alibrandi's done something similar in that he has control of the really big people, but makes his name in something smaller and more obscure?"

"Exactly, Mr. Wilkens." Devlan smothered a chuckle at the surprised look the young man wore when Victor addressed him by name. Some times, the ability to remember the most simple of details amid great amounts of information was very handy...and terrific for striking awe in the young. "Miguel's done the very simple thing of connecting a thousand different groups, but because he's done that, each has become a little harder to crack. That is why if we are going to catch and bring this clever bastard down, we have to beat him at his own game. All of our separate agencies have particular strengths we excel in, but no one has the skill or more importantly the resources to combat the entire operation at this level of sophistication on their own. The thought is to take the best from each and, hopefully, finally have an outfit that can take Alibrandi on and down.

"Those of us here today are only the US part of the task-force. Requests to the British MI5 and 6, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Interpol, and other similar agencies are holding very similar briefings and most of you will find yourselves working with your European, Asian, and international counterparts throughout. We are not going after a single branch of Alibrandi's network; we are looking at a perfectly sequenced and co-ordinated deconstruction of every aspect. The hope and plan is that hitting from multiple directions will stretch Alibrandi's resources to the point of weakness.

"Most of you here today will move around as needed, working on many tasks. You form a great portion of the core and it will be part of your responsibility to inform your teams of the greater objectives as they develop. As of this moment, many of you have just been promoted to Senior Field Agents." There was a quiet ripple of murmuring at the announcement. "We take many risks with this operation, not the least being you. You are all young, new to the world of espionage in the grand scheme, and in many cases: essentially untested in this gravity of task. For many of you, this will be a baptism of fire and how you preform will determine your career. You've been chosen in spite of your relative inexperience due to the fact that you are unknown to the world at large. Much of this op is a undercover and because few of you have had time to make a mark or enemies, you'll blend in with the young crowd with which Alibrandi associates."

Victor glanced over at Davis and received a nod of confirmation from the CIA agent. "Okay, now that I've undoubtedly just repeated what you spent the morning reviewing," he smiled, knowing he hadn't actually. "I'll hand you back over to Davis so that he can continue on with a rundown of how the next while should be structured. Bradshaw, Brewer, Carmody, Crichton, Jordan, Mercer, Rourke, and Ryan, you've been chosen for a special assignment and if you'll come with me, I can brief you on it."

Both Janet and Max glanced questioningly at Amy as they stood to descend the short steps down to the floor. All she could do was shrug in response, not having any more of an idea than they as to what the mission would include. Behind them, the other five named followed them out of the auditorium and a short distance to a conference room. Victor slid the door open, walked in, and dropped a stack of thick booklets onto the large oval table. "Please, be seated," he gestured at the table. "I know this is all a little rushed and even a bit chaotic, but normally these sorts of operations take months to get the faintly outlined stage, let alone actually being launched in under two weeks."

"Why such a rush?" Amy asked, taking care as she sat in the seat immediately to Victor's left, mindful of the fact that she couldn't just drop down without some regret. "I mean I kind of have first hand experience on how bad Alibrandi is and all, but why are we moving so fast on this?"

Victor had no such worries about sitting delicately and simply pulled out the chair at the head of the table and plopped into it. He gave her a faintly strange look before saying, "I keep forgetting you haven't been able to be looking at the information as Rory's deciphered it. To put it shortly, Miguel's only a little fish at the moment with lots of connections, but our boy might be looking at becoming a shark."

"Delightful," Amy muttered, distaste distinct on her tongue. She paused and frowned, something in the back of her memory bothering her and as she concentrated on it, slowly it began to solidify out of the haze her memory of Venice had become. "Hang on," she murmured. "I remember something about this," the blonde trailed off, fighting to connect the phantom wisps of memory with solid fact.

With so much of her attention on figuring out what it was she knew, Amy missed the slightly concerned looks Janet and Max traded, their own memories helpfully supplying the reason behind Amy's inability to remember. Victor caught their attention and shook his head to signal for them to let her be for the moment. He might know exactly what it was Amy was struggling to remember, having heard it first hand when she'd stumbled into the safe house, but they were connections she had to make for herself. If she could construct a solid recall of what had happened, then it meant coming to terms with the events was much easier.

Amy glanced up a moment later, triumph lighting her blue eyes to an unbelievable brilliance. "Miguel said at one point that he was fed up of being treated like somebody's errand-boy. He's got an ego the size of the Atlantic and has had it with the lack of respect. He's getting ready to make a move and attempt a hostile takeover of the criminal world at large, isn't he?"

Victor grinned with both pride and pleasure that Amy seemed to be making headway with her lack of memory surrounding both her capture and escape. In some ways, yes, it was good that she didn't remember some of what happened, but knowing made it a hell of a lot less intimidating. "Yes. That's very nearly the words you used when you came to."

With a slight frown at that lacking memory, Amy nodded in pliant acceptance of the fact. "Oh," she responded simply, trying to find the memory.

Seeing the struggle, this time Victor chose to ease the struggle. "You had that many drugs in your system, you were still in a daze. Don't worry about making the connections so much. Some of it you'll regain, others will be lost in the combination of painkillers and sedatives." Amy nodded again in the same staid compliance, still working over the discomfort at gaps in her usually impeccable memory. "Anyway, to the other topic at hand, you eight -plus a few more in a couple of weeks- are on a somewhat different project than the rest," Victor consciously pushed the conversation and attention along and away from Amy. "They'll be working on the straight-forward sting ops, but we get the fun bits."

The grin Devlan flashed was one Amy recognised as one to be wary of; the man had an incredibly twisted sense of humour some days, and this, she suspected, was one of them. "First things first that we really should get out of the way..." He gestured to Amy. "As you know or gathered, Amy Bradshaw; for the last two and a half years she's worked with me at NWI."

One of the five Amy didn't know piped up with a cheeky grin, "NWI; you mean the National Weather Institute?"

Victor spared the young woman a mock glare. "That's NOAA, you twit." Instead of offence, Victor's insult was met with a hearty laugh. "NWI; Night Watch International. We get to do the sorta stuff you guys only dream about. Black ops, very covert, and most of you lot don't even know we exist."

"So, how'd you hook up with them?" the young woman who'd teased Victor before asked Amy. "Being all super-secret and everything."

Smiling faintly, the blonde replied, "After graduation, Victor made the offer of something different where people wouldn't know about me being the Perfect Score."

"The hey?" One of the others asked, clearly confused by the codename and why Amy was particularly special -aside from the whole captured, tortured, escaped, and face-to-face with the bad guy thing.

The young man beside the one who'd asked grinned at the woman. "That's right, you Marshal boys and girls for all your history aren't privy to the intel the rest of us get. Bradshaw here scored perfect on a hidden test in the SAT's and was -well, is the perfect spy. After she graduated, she set the spy world on our rears by up and retiring suddenly. You guys heard the rumour about someone actually confronting Lucy Diamond and surviving?" The Marshal nodded. "That was her."

"Ah," the dark haired woman nodded as though that made all the sense in the world when clearly it didn't.

Devlan spoke up, once again pulling the group's attention back to him, pleased they seemed to be forming some beginnings of interaction. "To simplify things, Amy's had the reputation of being a brilliant spy...even before she was one. Over the last two years she's proved it true, but no one's actually known," he smiled as though privy to a private joke. "Anyway, next to her is Max Brewer, terror of the D.E.B.S. International Bureau, and general hellion. Beside her is Janet Carmody of the Secret Service -if you ever want to know how to use an international diplomat as a boogie-board, just ask her."

He ignored the very amusing expressions of the younger agents and indicated to the woman who'd joked with him earlier, "The smartass is US Air Force Lieutenant Commander Samantha Jordan, known not only for her aerial skills, but also for being quite the pool-shark." The pilot grinned sheepishly. "Next to her is Paul Mercer of the FBI and he, ladies and gentlemen, was the idiot and very green agent that first got his ass taken hostage by the April Ninth group two years ago and promptly saved every single hostage and terrorist by talking them down." Victor gave a nod of approval to the young man before indicating to the second man beside him who'd divulged the edited version of Amy's past. "Then, we have Lieutenant Josh Crichton of DIA."

"Defence Intelligence Agency?" Max asked, mildly surprised.

The young man smiled. "Yup. Mr. Devlan asked for some of us to wander over and help and some how my name came up."

"Don't let him fool you; at the tender age of thirteen, he was very nearly bringing down NASA's birds. Next to Rory, there's no better hacker out there," Victor said.

Amy's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow. High praise." To the slightly bewildered expression, she explained. "Rory is the head of our technology and computer branch. If it can be accessed or is complicated, she can figure it out; think of her of a cross of a computer geek, Q, and Lain. Most of the time, she's why no one knows about what we do."

Catching her last reference and understanding it, Crichton grinned before asking, "You mean Rory Carter, as in 'MercBlue?'" Josh named Rory's common handle as he sat forward in his seat in interest.

Devlan smirked. "Yes, that Rory and you'll meet her soon enough."

The young man sat back with a stunned expression. "Wow. Talk about living legend."

Smiling, with more than a touch of pride, Victor continued on with the last two introductions. "And at the end of the table is Agent Carmen Rourke of the CIA, who'll play you the meanest hand of strip poker you can imagine. Next to her, is Deputy Chase Ryan of the US Marshals and comes from a fine stock of Marshals before her; both her father and grandfather served, just as many in the family before them." Both women gave a little wave or inclination of the head to indicate themselves. "Now, before we get into the boring details of what we're doing, we're going to play a little game. Mercer, tell me something about Jordan."

The FBI agent stared at Devlan for a moment with the usual 'deer transfixed by imminent death' expression before he turned to the Lieutenant Commander. "She's brazen and boarders on arrogant, but has the skills to back up the confidence."

Devlan smiled. "Ah, but that you could have guessed from her being a pilot. Be a little more specific. Use that profiler training of yours, Mercer."

The young man wore an expression of both comprehension and rue. "Ah, right. You mentioned her being known for her piloting skills, which suggests that she stands out from the crowd and probably flies jets. The fact that she's also known for being a pool-player says she understands something about the practical applications of mathematics, which also suggests skill at flying. She is also an excellent judge of character."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she determined that despite your being a senior agent and technically her superior you'd be receptive to her joke before. She figured out that you wouldn't react negatively, and that turned out to be true."

With a nod of approval, Devlan looked to the pilot. "Jordan, tell me something about Ryan."

Having watched and learned from Mercer's example, the USAF officer examined the Deputy Marshal for a moment. "She has dedication and loyalty to what she believes in. If her family's served as Marshals, it says it's a long tradition, but I'd say she truly believes in it because she's chosen to join a field that for all intents and purposes is male-dominated. Family tradition or no, that takes a lot of determination and belief in what she's doing."

Devlan nodded.

"I'd also say her parents had sick sense of humour."

The young woman smirked and muttered, "You have no idea."

"Okay, Ryan. Crichton."

The deeply tanned young woman glanced over at the lieutenant. "He's an anime fan." She grinned. "He's also of above-average intelligence with a history of skirting the line of the law. However, being that he's in the military, I'd say he's straightened out at least partially."

Victor shook his head with a smile. "Crichton, how about Brewer?"

"Army brat," he supplied his evaluation succinctly before elaborating. "Probably been living in a routine her entire life, jumped into the D.E.B.S. at the chance offered, and hasn't looked back since. I'd also say, she makes a distinctive mark on people and is known for being a little reckless."

Amy couldn't hide the grin at the man's very accurate words, especially when Victor merely nodded. "Have you figured out what I'm doing yet?" he asked.

It was Janet who spoke up first. "When you introduced us, you said something else about us that would give the others clues about our character. Max being a terror leads to her being a psychopath some times," she flashed a bright, unapologetic smile to her friend. "While your saying Rourke excels at poker says she not only takes gambles, but can bluff as well."

"You forgot the strip part," the dark woman at the end of the table spoke up, a smile lingering behind her lips. "That says I most definitely take risks and am not afraid to step out of my comfort-zone a little to win."

"Yeah, but what does using a diplomat to surf say about you?" Mercer asked Janet with a bit of a grin.

"That she doesn't know the boundaries of what's embarrassing and what isn't," Max offered, gaining a laugh in response. "It also says that normal or prominent, if your ass is in trouble, she'll push you out of the way, regardless of what the consequences could be later. She makes sure there is a later."

Devlan smiled again. "Good. Now, do you know why you were chosen?" he asked and waited a few beats before continuing. "All of you have something in your pasts that sets you apart from the crowd. Mercer threw himself into an impossible situation and somehow managed to save everyone involved. Rourke, for the fact that she's only 28 has been doing undercover work since she was about 13 and excels in making people believe what she wants them to. Ryan not only comes from a long line of Marshals, but also distinguished herself last year by apprehending four maximum-security escapees...and that was against orders. You all have not only the training, but have proven that when it comes down to the sticky moments, you use it. You also just proved to each other that you can read what you need to know to make evaluations on those you meet, and that is something you need for this mission."

"What are we doing?" Mercer asked, the curiosity finally getting to the young man.

"Amy mentioned before that Alibrandi is looking to both expand and seize greater control and power. Our job, is to take advantage of these shifts, infiltrate his organisation, and once everything is in place, take him down," Victor explained, sliding a booklet across the table to each of the agents.

"How in the hell do we do that?" Rourke inquired, her tone relatively disinterested and cool. She eyed the hefty brief speculatively.

"Our initial objective is to make contact with and recruit the aid of a known underworld identity to give credit to those of you who will be going undercover."

"Do we have a particular criminal in mind?" the CIA agent asked, with more interest than before.

The pause Victor gave was uncharacteristic but what took Amy unaware were his next words. "Lucy Diamond." Amy looked at him so sharply; Devlan winced internally at how her neck had to protest. It was a rotten way to drop this fact on her in front of everyone where her reactions were limited, but he knew it was only this way that he had a chance. He knew her and he also knew Amy wouldn't make a scene; it simply wasn't in her nature.

"Victor."

Or perhaps, he was very wrong in that belief... Devlan did actually wince at the edge to the normally accepting and laid-back young woman's tone. Her blue gaze was positively glacial in the frigid glare she directed at him. "A word?" That wasn't a question despite appearances. That was an 'if you don't explain your ass pronto, I'm going to kick it into next Sunday' order.

Sparing a glance at the assembled agents suddenly extremely curious in the booklets before them, Victor nodded and stood. "Of course." He addressed the group, "If you'll excuse us a few moments."

He supposed it was something that Amy waited until the door was properly closed before very nearly exploding in anger. "What the hell?!"

If she hadn't contained her outburst to that single half-yell, he might have given the young woman a stern reprimand on public decorum, but even with that in mind, Victor understood where Amy was reacting from. He'd caught her off-guard and no one responded particularly well to the sort of surprise Amy fought. "Before you rip my head off, kick me in the shins, or chew me out as loudly and profanely in the middle of the CIA office as you undoubtedly want to, I'm sorry."

As he'd expected, the apology took Amy completely unaware and left her with an expression of confusion instead of the anger of seconds before. "I know your history and I know what the subject of Lucy Diamond does to you. Bearing that in mind, have I ever done anything to deliberately cause you harm or hardship?"

Amy watched the man with a wry mistrust in her expressive blue eyes, her arms across her middle in a defensive posture he hated to cause. "No," she answered honestly.

"Exactly. This is no different. The aim of this mission isn't to catch Lucy." Victor intentionally used the woman's first name. "In fact, depending on whether she wants to broker a deal, she may no longer find herself sought by the US authorities when this is all said and done. They want Alibrandi so bad, the government is willing to look the other way with Diamond because even though she costs them a fair bit in money and reputation, she isn't truly dangerous. She could easily be and the odd agent may die because they intend her ill, but for all her reputation, she doesn't arbitrarily slaughter innocent lives. Hell, the woman saves more than she harms!"

Shaking the old argument off, Victor softened his voice and took a step closer. "You won't have to bring her in or do anything you don't want to where she's concerned. You have my word on that, Amy."

"You never give your word," the young woman said quietly, making him smile.

"Not never, but rarely enough and you know I'll never break it. I swear, as far as this force is concerned, Lucy will only be considered a freelance agent and no matter the result, the deal will be honoured." And that was the truth. It had taken an insane amount of campaigning, innumerable markers called in, and even a little friendly entrapment between colleagues, but Devlan had the word -happily given or otherwise and also in writing- of every agency that after this, Lucy Diamond was off limits. A few had asked why he was so insistent, but he'd simply given them the line about showing that some still honoured deals made. The true reasons just didn't concern them.

"Why?"

Damn. He'd been hoping she wasn't going to ask that but had suspected she might. "Because..." Victor considered siting the same reasons as before but knew Amy would see passed them. "Because in my mind she's never been a large problem and what you've told me only serves to solidify that belief. And because you wouldn't stand for anything else. I would insist that any deal be honoured and you know that, but I did take more care in insuring this one. Why? Because of you."

Amy was taken aback by the words and more than a little confused. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Victor confirmed. "You've never stated anything either way, but I've always known you have something unresolved with her. Maybe this will help."

"Victor. I-"

Devlan shook his head. "My reasons don't matter and especially not if this op doesn't take place. I won't back you into a corner, and you know that's the truth. If you truly don't want to pursue this line, we can find another."

"Why Lucy?"

"Honestly? A. She's got the reputation for Alibrandi to respect her and that's what we need. B. She has the resources. C. For all her clout and aforementioned reputation, she's always shown to have integrity and a sense of honour. Of everyone we've considered approaching, she is not only among the more likely to be receptive, but also least likely to be an additional threat."

"You mean you wouldn't have to watch her as closely for a betrayal as another."

Victor smiled. "Actually, I'm banking on not having to watch her at all, but that all depends on whether or not you agree. If you aren't a part of it, we don't approach Lucy, because -frankly- we'd miserably fail."

Digesting Devlan's words, Amy glanced away, down the hall. "Can I think about it for a minute?" she asked quietly.

Reaching out to rest his hand on her shoulder, Victor nodded. "Of course. Take the time you need." He gave her arm a final pat and re-entered the room.

~~~

The perpetually active movement of Rio de Janeiro's streets flawlessly masked her passage, but then the woman made a living out of being unnoticed when she desired it. Her hair the colour of the sandy beaches and eyes the same hue of the rich Caribbean of the north might gain her appreciative glances, but in a city characterised by its gorgeous, young, and transient population, even here she blended. It undoubtedly helped that she returned the nod of approval with a roguish grin of her own. With seamless grace, the assassin threaded her way through the crowds in the warm evening air until she finally found the restaurant for which she searched.

She received a shy smile from the girl who led her to a quiet table outside and shook her head in amusement as the hostess scampered off to retrieve the two ordered drinks. A moment after she slid into a chair, she felt a hand trail across the light fabric over her shoulders and play with the collar of her shirt. "Konbanwa. You're late," the woman purred into her ear before stepping around to sit across from Katja. "Not that you could be blamed with this crowd," the slender Asian woman added with a vague gesture at the full streets.

"Juri," Katja let a lazy, warm smile find its way across her lips. "As always: a pleasure." She paused to give the girl who'd returned to set their drinks down a slight smile. "Obrigado."

She blushed delicately at the charming foreigner and ducked her head. "Você é bem-vindo," she responded before slipping away.

Her dark eyes alight with mirth, the other woman gave a respectful nod in return and raised her glass to touch it with the blonde's. "Always. You're utterly incorrigible though."

Katja wore an utterly believable expression of innocence. "I have no idea of what you speak. I'm merely being polite." The hint of a devilish smirk completely ruined her denial, but pulled a laugh from her companion.

"Mm-hmm. You and your impeccable manners," she murmured over the edge of her drink as she paused to take a sip. "I must admit, your request came as a slight surprise and definite challenge."

The assassin tilted her head in perfect mimicry of a feline expression of inquiry as she smoothly slid into her companion's native language with a flawless accent. "What surprises me is how quickly you came. I would have thought you to use the usual methods and more time."

Juri shook her head and responded, "Not with what I might have uncovered. I thought this a conversation best had in person." Then, with a quirk of an unabashed grin, she reclined and added in English, "And how could I resist the opportunity of Rio and you?"

She let a smirk show. "Mmm, I thought the Brazilian sun might have something to do with it." Katja switched back to Japanese as she asked, "Was the woman in the photo who I suspected?"

Nodding, Juri took a drink before responding. "Oh yes. And that, my dear kitten, is one hell of a find."

Katja's expression was unreadable to all but the woman across from her as she turned the information over in her mind. "And is she still in the game?"

"That," Juri responded with something nearing respect in her voice. "Was much harder to determine. There is no sign of her, but neither is there the typical absence that is just as telling. If she has a cover than it's fucking brilliant." Katja lifted her eyebrows at the rare curse word. "I only know of one with the skill for this sort of burying and if it's who I suspect, she's got extremely talented people protecting her. I can't actually state positively or even offer conclusive evidence, but looking at everything, taking what I've heard allusions to, and knowing how to look at it all, I would say her presence is likely."

She nodded with a still somewhat impassive mask before asking, "Have you uncovered why she was there?"

Juri grinned. "The trick was even finding a trace that she was in the first place, but what finally made it all click was her partner." At that, a pale eyebrow arched in question. "From what I can tell, the other woman was the one that actually did the foot work in Italy. She stayed out of sight until the actual job. What I've managed to put together about what took place in Venice is that Miguel found evidence of surveillance and set his dog Blake on their trail. Two spies were found. One ended up dead and the other is believed to be as well. As far as Alibrandi is concerned, she was killed in the assault on his fort, courtesy of your and Daimond-san's parting gift."

Katja flashed a feral grin at the memory of the charges placed through out and detonated. "Well, he did want us to illustrate where the weakness were."

Tipping her head back with a warm laugh, Juri shook her head. "You levelled the entire building. That was a sixteenth century structure, Kat."

The assassin grinned again. "We make sure to be thorough."

With a snort and roll of her expressive, dark eyes, Juri watched her companion for a few moments. "So, tell me, how is she fairing with this recent development?" They both knew whom the vague 'she' referred to.

At this Katja gave a brief flash of a frown and released a frustrated sigh. "Badly, I suspect, which is to say: she's absolutely not acknowledging it to anyone. She's being bloody infuriating and Scud is no better; they both persist in thinking I don't know." Shaking her short hair out of her eyes, the assassin gave a slight, annoyed growl. "I'd just like to know how this is going to play out because as pleasant an exercise it might be, mimicking an ostrich will not make this go away."

"I know," Juri replied softly, giving Katja's hand a sympathetic squeeze. "What'll you do?" she asked, reverting back to English.

Exhaling deeply, she tipped her head back and rolled it across her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension she knew she carried. A moment later, Katja shrugged. "What else do I do? I swore to Eva twenty years ago I would keep her daughter safe from harm. I've failed twice, there will not be a third," she stated with absolute conviction.

Juri blew out an exasperated sigh of her own. "Oh, for the Kami's sake, you can't take her falling in love and getting her heart broken as a failure, baka! Now, what happened over the debacle of the hell-fiend, okay, but no damn guilt on the actual love part, and especially not with the last one," the darker woman stated with a firm explosion, the barest hint of a western accent emerging with particular syllables stressed.

Katja grinned in response to both the hint she caught and scolding, an amused smirk tracing its way across her tanned features. "Fine, but I'm still not letting it happen again. Having one's heart ripped out is as painful as a gunshot or knife between the ribs," she stated with the knowledge of experience. "The difference is that at least the latter you can see the scars and it heals long before the first."

"I know," Juri murmured with the same sympathy as before. Several minutes passed them by as they sat in a companionable silence and watched the young crowd parade by. "That other thing you wanted me to check..." Juri slid back into her birth tongue. "Something's definitely amiss."

"I suspected as much," the assassin responded quietly. "You can taste it in the air. There exists a tension of the likes of which I haven't felt since the beginning of the end with the Schaffer feud. This feels bigger though."

Again, Juri nodded. "It is. No matter where you walk or who you ask, we all sense it."

"It's as though we're standing on the fine, razor-sharp edge of a katana, waiting for the moment when we'll all tumble down. The trick is knowing on which side to fall to avoid being cut."

"Maybe there isn't a way." Juri leaned forward, her voice hushed instinctively. "This is going to be bloody, Katja. That Roman bastard has a hell of a lot of powerful people in his sights and we both know he doesn't just hit the top. He takes everybody out; even those not involved. Retaliation alone is going to be hell. To complicate matters, something is happening with the police and I think Lucy's girl was in Venice for that very reason."

The sigh Katja blew out was long and wary. "I fear this is one war we cannot sit out, no matter how much we would prefer to. The question is, for what side to take up?"

~~~

Several thousand miles away, Amy exhaled just as deeply and walked away from the room and over towards a large window the afternoon sun streamed through. She turned and let her back be warmed as she rest against the sill and released another equally as weary sigh as Katja's before. Watching the dust motes dance and play lazily in the light that streamed passed her, the young woman wondered if her sudden exhaustion really had anything to do with Venice at all or something else more recent. Two and a half years and this would be the first time since she'd told Lucy to go and the thief had made every effort to show she'd reformed. Two years and this would be how she saw her again...assuming the plan even worked.

Over time and in quiet moments of painting or being chained to one bad guy's wall or the other, the idle thoughts of serendipity had crossed her mind. Would Lucy come back under the guise of keeping tabs, or would she bump into the again master-criminal on the sun-kissed streets of Barcelona, Los Angeles, or Rio de Janeiro, or even the snowy heights of St. Petersburg, Oslo, or Kathmandu? They were errant fantasies dreamed in idle moments in the lull between missions, escape, or rescue. She knew, acknowledged, and admitted that, but never once had she considered this way of meeting Lucy again. Not through her job and having to work with her. The doubt and worry of having to catch the charismatic thief lingered, yes, but the risk was low because Lucy was never on Night Watch's radar.

For the third time in as many minutes, Amy blew out a long breath and asked herself the sixty-four thousand dollar question. 'Can I do this? Better yet, what exactly is this?' The lives of so many people could rest on that one decision and the thought of putting them in jeopardy for any reason made her sick. 'Why is it every thing comes down to rest on my shoulders? I left the D.E.B.S. to get away from this shit and all it's done is follow me.'

Amy released a frustrated growl and pushed off the windowsill. 'Why the hell is it every time I turn around, I end up making the decisions that end up affecting everyone else? I'm barely twenty-five for god's sake, I shouldn't be making these kinds of choices!' Giving a deflated sigh, the blonde's shoulders dropped. "Except this isn't a choice," she whispered. "Just like before, there is no choice."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, originally split with the original part posted on the 25th of October, and the second/full chapter up on the 7th of November, 2005

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please note: this was written and posted nearly 10 years ago and are the product of a 19 year old me. A decade affords a lot of growing up and such things. I haven't really given this a look for a very long time, so I can only imagine what needs to be re-written (everything? Especially most of the text with the original characters).

CHAPTER THREE 

 

They circled each other carefully. Precisely. All of their lives, they'd circled; moving closer and then taking two steps back. It was a game and a dance, and one perfectly choreographed to them. Neither could give completely, each too stubborn and strong-willed to capitulate or even think surrender. From the initial moment, they'd fought and fought hard. It was a game though, and when the battle was said and done -bruised and bloody- they were content. Brutal by some standards, appalling by others, but for them, it was a game. And it was theirs.

~~~

The door slid open and Amy stepped in, a resolved and determined expression upon her features. "All right, but we do this my way and if I have objections, you'll give them due thought," she directed at Victor, her voice strong with the clear message that it had to be that way.

"Have I ever responded differently?" he asked. Amy's look was hard and unwavering, and in a flash of insight, Victor understood that she needed the words. She needed the tangible reality of the reassurance and he cursed all those before him for waning her trust of those around her. "Of course. Absolutely."

Amy nodded slowly, letting her shoulders relax and her mind loosen around the knowledge she'd carried for the last two and a half years. "Good. In that case…" She hesitated for the very briefest of moments, tasting the weight the words held before announcing, "I know exactly how to contact her."

~~~

The punch caught her off-guard and clipped her hard on the chin. She tumbled backwards from the blow to land in a couch staring up at the blonde woman standing above her in a relaxed but ready stance. "You are distracted," Katja stated calmly.

Lucy launched herself from the floor and at the assassin, knocking the taller woman back a few paces. They grappled for several minutes, attempted holds foiled, locks broken, and the occasional head butt dodged at the last second. Her longer reach tangled in Lucy's quicker hands, the lanky woman switched tactics as she deftly slid a long leg under and around Lucy's. Using her advantage of height, she tipped the brunette off balance and sent them tumbling to the ground.

Rolling mid-fall, Katja took the brunt of the impact with a grunt, but had the smaller woman on her back a moment later. "Your focus is on a completely different continent," she growled.

With a fierce growl, Lucy snapped her full attention into the bout, hurtling fresh vigour into the exercise. Her hands were suddenly free and with her strength of speed, she slammed both heels of her palms into the blonde's ribs. Katja quickly found her breath expelled in a harsh cough, and as her attention wavered for the most brief of moments, the woman pinned beneath her longer body had her knees up and like a tightly wound coil, with a burst of unexpected energy, sent her flying backwards. The assassin rolled with the lent momentum into a crouch similar to Lucy's moments before, pausing momentarily to give a second cough. Her loose, ruffled hair obscured her vision slightly, but not enough to conceal the sight of Lucy standing there, one hip cocked and hand resting upon it, wearing a smirk.

"I can still take you."

Katja spun without warning, her long, elegantly toned legs easily catching the brunette's ankles and sweeping them from beneath her. To her credit, Lucy hit the mats in a roll and pounced even as she fell. Slamming bodily into the assassin, they tumbled over backwards and even tangled in each other as they were, the pair found their feet and launched into an even more furious attack. Falling back into instincts she'd been trained with since before she could walk, Lucy felt the calm settle across her shoulders as she threw first one punch, blocked a return from Katja as she jabbed rapidly with her left fist, and ducked under another quick blow. As she'd expected, the blonde danced back and away from the hit directed toward her ribcage and with a speed she'd always had to be wry of, Katja spun, her leg lashing out.

Ducking and with the same simple transfer of momentum, the darker woman swept her leg out, tripping the assassin's from beneath her. Several moments and a blur of action later when she had Katja on her knees, one arm bent unnaturally behind her, Lucy asked in a breathy exhale, "Still think I'm off?"

Her right arm curled behind her with enough pressure from the brunette to be painful, the assassin grinned and slammed her left elbow into Lucy's solar plexus. She felt the rush of breath as she knocked the wind out of the thief blow passed her ear and as Lucy faltered for just barest hint of a second, Katja ignored the roar of pain blazing through her grasped wrist, jerked her other arm up, and back. The blow to Lucy's nose was quick, brutal, and sent the darker, younger woman stumbling backwards, the telltale flash of crimson betraying the injury. Katja's only response was a roguish grin of both triumph and delight. The game was on.

~~~

It was well after the conventional dinnertime that they finally quit for the day and departed the CIA building with directions to meet up later tomorrow when they would be taken to NWI headquarters. Devlan had pulled his girl aside, her two friends were either waiting or had left, and as Paul Mercer glanced about at his new colleagues, he decided a drink was most definitely in order. "Hey." The other four stopped and looked at him. "Anyone else feel like they need a long, stiff drink after all that?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the building behind them.

Jordan grinned and gave a laugh tinged with relief. "Hell, yes. Anybody actually from here though, and know a place to get one, because I spend most of my time in Colorado, the desert, or far up north."

To the FBI agent's surprise, it was the quiet and completely enigmatic Rourke who spoke up. Out of the group, she was the hardest for the profiler to figure out, and her offering the information only served to set him further off kilter. "I've spent enough time to have found a few places that aren't too much of a dive," she flashed a grin. "And they serve a mean steak."

The Air Force pilot returned a grin with a delighted one of her own. "Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to have to plague Room Service at my hotel for some real food. No offence, Rourke, but your agency's concept of food sucks." The rest of the group laughed and agreed wholeheartedly.

"Tell me about it," came the wary response from the CIA operative. "I make a point of not eating at the office the rare times I'm in for that very reason. C'mon. We can take a cab or two as I suspect none of us drove."

All four shook their heads. "The moment my ass got off the plane from Atlanta, I was shoved in a car and thrown out here," Paul said, gaining nods from the others to suggest similar experiences. "Talk about shoddy organisation skills," he grumbled.

As she pulled her cell from her hip, Carmen shrugged. "At this point, I don't think any of them know what end is up. From the sound of things, they are more than a little panicked at everything; I'd say they didn't have a clue about Alibrandi." She turned her attention to her phone and spoke with the operator and dispatcher for a few moments before hanging up. "Our ride should be here in a few."

Half an hour later, Josh stumbled out of the taxi, aided by Mercer's hand in his back giving him a helping shove after which, Paul very nearly would've made a face-plant had Crichton not grabbed him. In the car wearing an absolutely devilish grin of mischief, Ryan threw the smile over her shoulder and climbed out of the vehicle. Behind her, Jordan snickered and asked, "You have brothers, don't you?"

Straightening her jacket, Chase nodded. "Four of them and I'm the youngest. I found it was always easier to push them out of the car instead of waiting all day for them to move their rears."

Jordan groaned as she unfolded her lanky frame from the cramped position she'd been in and stretched the moment she could. "Ow. I might spend all day in the cockpit of a jet, but at least I have leg room," she grumbled. "And for that matter, why did we put the smallest one in the front seat by herself?"

"So, you all own me a drink, right?" Carmen queried, waving the driver off after paying the tab as she shut the door behind her.

"Sure thing," Paul agreed. "Since you so generously made the phone call and foot the bill for the cab." He flashed a grin to Sam. "And that's why we did."

~~~

"You know," Katja drawled in a lazy voice from where she lay sprawled across the practise mats, her words hindered slightly. "One of these days, we really should learn to have a conversation without having to beat the living hell out of each other first." She shifted the ice pack she held to her cheek and over the split lip she now sported, wincing at the tenderness the rapidly developing bruise brought.

"Whyb? An'ruind all ourb fund?" the brunette asked around the towel soaking up the near-gush of blood. Television and the movies might portray bloody noses as a simple trickle of red, but real ones did a hell of a lot more than seep sedately and dry up after a couple of drops.

"Well, it would be far more productive, when you think about it. Besides, you know how Sam is going to get?" the blonde went to grin before wincing and cursing softly as the movement pulled open the finally clotted cut. She pressed a damp cloth against it under the icepack, her swearing increasing at the sting the freshly exposed wound brought.

From where she sat half hunched over, Lucy pulled the half crimson towel away from her face and stared at the blood, macabrely letting it flow for the moment. "True. He is worse than a mother chicken." Watching the vibrant red, her mind flashed back to another stain of blood, on her hands that time. She heaved a great sigh, and continued to stare as her nose continued to drip.

Beside her, Katja lifted her head and groaned inwardly at the expression the darker woman wore. "Right," she announced, rolling onto her side. "Now that I've spilled your blood and you mine: out with it."

Lucy's dark gaze flickered up to meet Katja's much lighter blue-green. "Out with what?" she chose avoidance tactics and lifted the towel once again to her nose.

"Anna Ilucinda Reynolds Andrades," the blonde growled, elegantly pronouncing the name and pushing herself up until she was upright, her legs crossed beneath her. She paused, and let out a frustrated sigh, before narrowing her eyes briefly. "Fine. We'll play that way." Katja let the words hang in the air between them for a moment before stating, "I know about what you found in Venice."

Lucy may have been a champion at procuring what she wanted and possessed the attitude to demand exactly what was desired. She also might have played at some of the most dangerous of gambling tables and won not on a small part due to her excellent game face. Very little could make that calm, cool, and casually disinterested facade break, but there were a very small handful who knew exactly how to shatter it, and one of them sat before her, an expression of stubborn ferocity and the tools to do it.

"I know about Bradshaw."

The name bore more of a punch than any of the earlier jabs or kicks and was exactly what could disassemble all Lucy’s barriers and defences. Her voice was quiet, almost hushed. "How?"

"After you and Sam disappeared, I went to see if he was still in the surveillance room. I saw the monitor and the image. Something about her was familiar and after he said something in the lower levels, I contacted a friend."

"Wait..." Lucy pulled the towel away from her face impatiently. "You told someone about that? About her?"

"Calm down and put the damn towel back," Katja ordered sternly, reaching over with her free hand to redirect Lucy's hand back to her nose. "Be realistic, Luce. I'm not a first year student, fresh to this world; I know what is sensitive information and what is not. I contacted someone I *trusted.*"

Lucy sat back and nodded, feeling foolish for her rush of panic. If there was any person in all the world who understood the need for spastic and obsessive precautions and secrecy, then it was the assassin. Not only did she give discrete and subtle new meaning by her very nature, but her entire life depended upon the ability to remain low-key. "You're right, I'm sorry," she said softly, shaking her head at her impulsive reaction.

Katja shook her head at both her companion and the apology. "Do not worry. I spoke with Juri this evening. She confirmed what I suspected, but she also tells me Alibrandi believes her dead. She's done some checking, and from what little she's been able to turn up, believes that Bradshaw is still a part of this world."

Not sure how to take the information and from the unexpected source, Lucy merely nodded. It took minutes to finally kick something out of her brain. "I'd wondered after Italy. All this time, I thought she'd left," Lucy quietly said, lifting her eyes to meet Katja's gentle teal gaze. Brown depths bore an undefined pain and anguish, a great mark of confusion lurking in the rich dark colour.

"I know. From what Juri tells me, who ever she's with is..." The assassin gave a soft chuckle. "They make all of the other agencies look like children. There exist no whispers over them and that means they are true professionals; their aim though, that remains a mystery," she explained. "What little she found though points to a black ops outfit who seem to rely more on secrecy than anything else to achieve their objectives."

"And we have no clue what those are," Lucy repeated with a sigh.

"Exactly." Katja nodded. She watched Lucy closely, the colour of her eyes shifting again, as it always did with her emotions and thought. It settled on a gentle aqua, a hue reserved for Lucy alone. Reaching over, she caught the hand Lucy wasn't using to hold the towel with. "Tell me," she issued the soft plea, asking for the confidence she knew Lucy needed to give.

"I...I just don't know." Lucy dropped her left hand back to the mat, not caring her nose continued to bleed as she stared up at the ceiling and shook her head. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to feel," she confessed, the torment of not knowing and agonising over the confusion bleeding into her voice. "Everything just...fell apart."

Closing her eyes and turning away, Katja's jaw clenched hard for several minutes as she wrestled at her own pain and forced it back. Her own voice shook with the weight of things left unsaid. "I know, Luce," she whispered hoarsely. "And for my part in it I am /sorry,/" the last word held so much and far more than a simple word should ever be burdened with.

~~~

"So, what do you all think of our new comrades?" Mercer asked, lounging quite happily in the booth of the honest-to-goodness steakhouse. He didn't know where in the hell Carmen managed to find one in the tofu and wheat grass capitol of the US, but damned if the woman didn't.

"Looots of history," Jordan declared with a nod. "Max, Janet, and Amy know each other and Devlan and Bradshaw have got the strangest supervisor/employee relationship. If I treated my CO's that way, my ass would be kicked from here to Saturn and back again."

"You're right about Brewer, Carmody, and Bradshaw," Carmen responded. "They were taught together and made up three quarters of the D.E.B.S. top squad before they graduated. They've also been friends for the last six and a half years."

Chase raised her eyebrows expressively. "Really? And they didn't know about her still being a spy? That's got to put a strain on things," she commented thoughtfully. "To be honest, I can't imagine keeping that sort of thing from a best friend."

Carmen gave the taller woman across from her an understanding smile. "You're a Marshal and unless you're undercover, your job isn't so dependant upon secrecy. Bradshaw, however, what we do depends entirely on people believing who we say we are."

Nodding in agreement, Josh threw out the next statement. "Thing is, if Alibrandi'd know who she was, what happened to her woulda been a cakewalk."

Chase shook her head. "He just makes my skin crawl and trust me, I'm used to nasty bastards, but that guy... There's something about that man that is simply evil."

"Absolutely," Jordan agreed. "Of course, I wouldn't go writing Blake off as a barrel of fun either. He's got cruelty written all over him."

"Blake's the sorta guy that starts of tormenting small animals, graduates to slaughtering the neighbourhood pets, and moves on to full sadism by about twelve," Paul firmly stated. "I've been given a few guys like him to work up a profile on and every time, patterns emerge. Some people are just born bad."

"And others are only a product of their environment," Rourke added somewhat cryptically. As they mulled over the CIA agent's words, they were quiet for several minutes.

"So, Devlan. What do you make of him?" Samantha asked, breaking the silence.

"I like him," Paul announced, happily warming up to the change in subject. "He actually seems to understand reality and the world instead of the dissociated approach most supervisors take."

"He should," Carmen stated simply.

When it became clear she wasn't going to offer anything else, Josh asked, "You going to clarify?"

She smiled. "Victor Devlan is an absolute legend among particular circles. As an agent, he's brilliant. As a leader, he's phenomenal. And as a man... He's cast from the mould of the extraordinary. Some view him as a little too rogue for their liking and others are scared by his sometimes flexible code of morals. He's had shady and very questionable points along his career, but every time, he's proven successful; something some people find irritating. He's also one of the wealthiest men in the country at the moment, though where that money comes from is cause for question on many's part."

The others wore varying expressions of surprise and interest at her statement. "You seem to know an awful lot about everybody," Paul observed neutrally.

Carmen flashed a smile, taking no offence or negativity in his words. "Not everyone. I merely make a point of knowing the major players and I have as close to a photographic memory as you can call it without the actual term for people."

"That's always handy," Josh commented.

"Yeah, it's saved my ass a time or two in a few tight situations," she replied with a hint of a wry, if not, enigmatic smile.

"I gotta ask," Sam confessed, her natural curious streak pushing the question. "Undercover at thirteen? At that age, my worries were logarithms, how fast and hard I was going to hit the ground from my latest catapult, and plotting the precise landing site for my mice rocket-pilots." At the mildly appalled look Paul was giving her, she half yelped defensively, "What? They had helmets and self deploying parachutes!"

Beside her, Chase leaned back against the leather of the booth and laughed hard. "You sound like my brothers and I; only then it was duct-taping four rockets around a bull frog and there was no need for 'cutes."

Josh looked positively green as he caught her meaning and found his own errors in the plan. "Four rockets wouldn't maintain the same course; tape and frog or no."

Chase's grown gaze glittered with mischief. "I know."

"Ew." The young man's almost very proper noise of disgust sent another round of laughter through the group.

"You mean, I'm the only one who was normal at thirteen? No tormenting small animals, being undercover, hacking NASA, or insanely impossible math courses?" Mercer's tone held more than a touch of disbelief.

"Yeah, but none of the rest of us let ourselves be taken hostage by a US-based terrorist organisation," Josh retorted.

"Just organised crime families or the odd serial killer," Carmen responded.

"Escaped convicts and the odd mass-murderer," Chase thew out as she lifted the newly deposited beer to her lips.

"I wouldn't say I let them, but throw in some shady groups and para-military outfits and sure," Jordan offered with a grin.

Paul, Carmen, Sam, and Chase fixed Josh with expectant looks. "What? Oh, fine," he grumbled. "A year ago, terrorist cell out of somewhere I can't even pronounce kind of snuck into the installation I was stationed at," the young man explained. "But I wasn't taken hostage."

"Oh?" Paul asked leaning back in his chair with interest. "Sounds like there's something to that story."

Grinning as he looked at the other man over his glasses, Josh's expression was quietly amused. "Isn't there always?" he asked with deceptive nonchalance. "I mean think about it." He glanced around the table. "Do any of us really think we're all normal people who lead boring, uneventful lives?" Josh shook his head. "No, there's something about all of us that makes us stand out from the crowd, because if we weren't all a little extraordinary, we wouldn't have been chosen for this."

Across the table beside Chase, Sam nodded. "You don't have to tell any of us twice. We all know we're different; it's what makes us good."

Josh nodded. "So, why don't we take a page from Mr. Devlan and play a little show and tell. Rules are simple: Carmen asks me about a mission, event, or adventure that gives you an idea about me -obviously nothing too classified," he returned the grin Jordan shot at him. "I ask Ryan, Ryan asks Jordan, Sam asks Paul, and Paul asks Carmen."

"Reverse the order Devlan used," Jordan observed thoughtfully. "Nice."

"That's the thought. Obviously, if the question is too sensitive personally or professionally, you can pass on it but not on your turn. Sound fair?" The other four nodded each after a moment of thought and Josh glanced at Carmen expectantly, already having a feeling what she was going to ask.

She fixed him with a long, intense look that made him both nervous, feel transparent, and even made his ego stand up and stare in awe at the notice taken. Then, her dark gaze softened, and the equally as dark woman sat back. "If you weren't taken hostage, what happened?"

Sitting back against the body-warmed leather, Josh chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I can't tell you all the details, but I can give you a slightly edited version. It was a listening post and manned by a crew of about fifteen on three separate shifts; we'd been there for about six months, just listening and code-breaking. Because it was a top-secret installation, there were six guards -two on each eight hour shift; no one was supposed to know we were there." Josh paused and exhaled, ordering his thoughts. "I wasn't on shift and actually wasn't where I was supposed to be but after eight hours listening, eight decoding, and eight sleeping for the last six months, I needed to see the sky and breathe non-recycled air. When I went back down, I realised something was wrong. In a place like that, as small and self-contained, you learn things about it and the other fourteen guys you live with. You get used to sounds and smells and the general feel of it. When something is out of place you just /know."/

"They told me later that it was a carefully organised strike and as effective because of inside information. Thing is, I couldn't even hate the idiot who sold his allegiance because he was killed the moment they had access. They took out the guys stationed there to keep us safe, and killed two of the other cryptologists in the first go. After that, it went down hill; by the time it was all said and done, three of us survived and I learned I knew five ways to kill. It was...the first time I killed someone," he finished, his voice soft.

"It doesn't get any easier," Carmen said just as quiet as she reached up to rub her neck. "You don't quite get used to it and you become more adept, but you never really get over the feeling of knowing *you* ended a life; that *you* stopped their tomorrow." The others nodded, each knowing of what exactly she spoke. "But then, if it ever becomes easy, if you ever get used to it, you know you've crossed a line we never should."

Silence reigned over the group for several minutes as they each relived their own ghosts. "Anyway, I ended up spending the next three months under heavy psych eval and took the first assignment I was offered monitoring data-flow to satellites, no matter how overqualified I am. Been doing that for the last nine months. When Devlan asked me to join up, I took the offer about a week later. I just couldn't keep pretending it never happened no matter how much I wanted to, you know?"

"Yup," Mercer nodded. "The first time I killed someone, I puked my guts up the minute I got home and spent the next four days on the bathroom floor curled up," he admitted, lacking any sort of shame or embarrassment from the fact.

"I got very drunk, very fast," Chase said. "I didn't shed any tears over the man himself, but it took a lot to learn how to laugh again after the first time. And god what a hangover I gave myself." She grimaced at the memory.

"The first is always the worst. Afterwards, it's still hell, but the shock isn't so paralysing," Josh said. "I don't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but I didn't really have time or a chance to think about it after the first one because the second guy was nearly on my ass."

"So, you ended up taking out a highly trained team of five guys by yourself?" Paul asked, gaining a nod in answer. He gave a low whistle of awe. "Wow. What do they teach you boys over at DIA?"

Smirking, Josh responded, "Actually, I ended up frying the first guys ass, and I learned that in college by my bastard roommate playing pranks on me. But, the rest...well, it's amazing what the hell your sense of self-preservation will do to you. I might not have been Rambo and ended up needing a bullet pulled out of my shoulder, but we geeks keep telling the rest of you not to piss us off, and it's not just because we'll crash your computer."

Sam grinned. "Damn straight. Not only will we bring your machine down, we'll redirect all the spam to your inbox, electrocute your ass, and then kick it from here to next Sunday. Don't piss off the geeks. Just 'cause we wear glasses doesn't mean we won't hit back and hard."

Josh watched as Chase shook her head with a laugh and played with the coaster the sweating glass sat upon. He was just opening his mouth to prod the deputy Marshal with a question of his own, when a frown marred her tanned forehead. Reaching up, she furiously rubbed her eyes. Then, as a sheepish expression fell over her dark features, she nudged Jordan. "Can I get out? I need to go take care of something."

As the woman wound her way through the restaurant, Josh was once again struck by just how damn tall she was. It would be hard to miss her in a crowd already, but with as quiet as she was proving to be, especially in the corner of a booth, the fact was still startling. That, and the woman had a habit of sliding down just enough in her seat so that her height wasn't so apparent and she seemed to blend in so damn well.

"Did they have to go out and catch the cows themselves?" Sam groused, glancing over her shoulder and the booth towards the kitchen.

Laughing, Paul shook his head at the redhead. "What, lunch didn't tide you over?" His tease was ruined by the perfectly timed growl his own stomach made, gaining him a smirk from Jordan.

"You either, and for that matter, no. That rabbit food?" She gave a snort of disgust. "I like salads as much as the next person and don't even mind sprouts on them, but I'm not afraid to admit I'm happy as a carnivore."

"Omnivore, actually," Chase corrected from behind her.

When she stood to let Ryan slide back into the booth, Sam made a credible imitation of a double take. Frowning slightly, she shook her head for a moment, and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened; her mind telling her something was different, but not quite positive. Slipping by Jordan, Chase couldn't keep the smirk from her lips as she gave a quick wink with her royal blue eyes.

"Hang on a second here," Sam half-stuttered, staring at the now seated woman, a comically perplexed expression firmly in place. The two men looked between the two women with similar confusion, not having caught what gave Sam pause. When Chase reached up, caught her sleeve, and pulled down, she immediately sat, unknowingly getting out of the waiting woman's way that held her dinner.

"Yer in the way, Jordan," the dark woman informed her, a grin still touching her lips.

"Huh?" Sam lifted her head and looked up at the waitress. "Oh. I'm sorry," she apologised. Moments later, her green eyes lit up with appreciation at the plate set in front of her, seeming to forget what had caused her confusion before.

A number of minutes and much delighted eating on all party’s counts, Josh remembered what he'd been about to ask. "Chase, how come you went and joined the Marshals? I know you said it was sort of like a family tradition and all, but you also said you have four older brothers. Couldn't they've joined?"

Pausing to swallow, Ryan nodded. "My oldest brother did." She debated for a moment before continuing, "He's actually part of the reason I ended up actually joining. I'd always wanted to join the Marshals since I can remember. My grandfather was one, just as his father was, and even his before him. It *is* a tradition, but not only that, I grew up believing in everything the Marshals stood for. My brother, Ewan, was twelve when I was born and joined the service as soon as he was old enough and had the qualifications. Like my father and grandfather before him, Ewan quickly distinguished himself as a cut above the rest. About five years ago, he was murdered trying to catch a man who'd escaped custody and was under the suspicion of being a roving killer. A week later, I joined the Marshals."

"What happened to the man who killed your brother?" Samantha asked with a sideways glance to the woman beside her.

"They finally caught him about three states over and a few dark-haired, twenty-year old women later." She idly traced the pattern on her plate with the tip of her knife. "He was tried, convicted, and sentenced to life without parole. Two years later, the bastard escaped and went on the run with a couple of fellow prisoners."

"You weren't assigned to catch them, were you?" Rourke asked, all ready knowing the answer even as Ryan shook her head.

"Too close to it," she responded, her voice carrying both the acceptance of the fact and resentment at it being truth.

Doing the math in he head and making a couple of estimations, Jordan tilted her head to the side as she asked, "That wasn't over the riots when Jefferies, Strauss, Greene, and James were amid the dozen that broke out in '04, was it?"

Chase nodded. "Yup."

"And those four wouldn't happen to be the one's Devlan mentioned you catching...against orders?" Mercer asked, a smile lurking.

Again, Chase nodded, her face still shadowed enough to make determining her thoughts difficult. "Yup...to a degree."

"How badly did you get in trouble?" Josh asked. "I know that after everything was said and done with that bad mission, I got chewed out for not being at my post. And what the hell does 'to a degree' mean?"

The smile Chase gave was rueful. "I got the ass-chewing to end all ass-chewings, suspension, and even ended up facing a review tribunal, along with nearly losing my position, but the fact that I ended up bringing the four in worked in my favour. That and my superior vouched for my even being in the state and thus, 'unintentionally' getting myself involved. At the time, I was assigned to catch someone else, and an equally as rotten perp. I honestly didn't intend to come face-to-face with that bastard, and especially not to find myself his next victim, but it turned out I fit the mould."

"Shit," Sam exhaled. "You ended up targeted by the sonuvabitch?"

Ryan nodded. "His flavour was young, dark haired, blue-eyed women about my age at the time. Being the youngest on the team, naturally, I was sent out for coffee as we were working on finding Wilson. We didn't know the other four had crossed the state line into Nevada, so they didn't even think about the chance of me running into them. I didn't even know until it was nearly too late."

"What the hell does that mean?" Mercer asked, a frown showing on his mildly rugged features.

Smiling, Chase replied, "It means that while we were in the middle of moving into grab Wilson, Strauss made a grab for me. The next thing I knew, we ended up in a hell of a shoot out with bullets coming from every direction it seemed. Wilson and Strauss got away that night, and with everyone trying to figure out what the hell had gone on, they were a bit late in realising I wasn't exactly there anymore. Came to in a mine shaft with a bastard of a headache and just refused to say die."

"Damn. Five to one odds are not pleasant, I know that much from experience," Josh spoke. "You only brought four in though? Did one of them get away?"

Chase shook her head. "Only four were brought in alive. Strauss didn't exactly survive, and that was why I ended up in as much trouble as I did," she admitted. "Every Marshal knew Strauss killed Ewan, and quite a few knew he was my brother. The fact that everything went down in an abandoned mineshaft that ended up half collapsing made it even harder for someone to go in later to see if my story matched up."

"Hang on, you don't mean..." Paul looked positively disgusted. "You against five extremely dangerous felons and they were looking at you as though you were suspect? That's fucked."

She shrugged and gave a half smile. "No, it's understandable, and had I been in their position, I would have done the same. The truth is, only two people know what happened in that mineshaft, and one of them is buried beneath several tonnes of rock and dirt. In the end, I was cleared, but they pretty much told me it was because they couldn't determine either way if it was a good shoot or not. The truth is, there is no good shoot." Chase sighed. "Anyway, they put me back on active duty once they had number of headshrinkers crawl around in my head."

~~~

Rubbing her head furiously with the white, fluffy towel, Amy padded quietly through her studio apartment, her bare feet making only the slightest hint of sound. Despite the thick terry cloth robe she wore, the young woman shivered a little at the much colder air compared to the hot shower she'd just been under. Her skin held a rosy colour, the distinct mark of too hot water against the flesh, and the night's breeze nearly felt arctic.

At the sound of a knock against the dark wood of her door, Amy peaked out from beneath the towel and glanced over towards it, a flicker of something wary and apprehensions passing across her face. With a shake of her head, she pushed the feeling of discontent firmly away and crossed over to the door. Her hand pausing on the knob, she shifted her attention to the side and tapped a dark panel, a screen flaring to life. On it, the image of her hallway just outside the door appeared, two familiar figures standing there, the darker of the two raising a hand to the door again. Amy pulled the door open and walked the short distance towards the kitchen in search of water.

Janet was mildly hesitant as she preceded Max into the apartment. Although she'd been there an innumerable amount of times in the past, the young woman suddenly found herself with the taste of discomfort. Far less concerned with courtesy, Max's bearing was bold as she followed the blonde into the kitchen. "You shouldn't just open your door and let someone in you know. This /is/ LA."

Draping the white cloth around her neck, Amy pulled the door of the fridge open and withdrew a bottle of water, offering one each to the other two. "I don't. When I bought the place, Victor insisted on having a full security system installed, monitors for the hall, elevator, building entrances, and roof included." With that, it was suddenly there, casually in the open. Amy was still in the game, still a spy, and it seemed to be present in every facet of her life.

~~~

"Was it a legit shoot?" Jordan finally asked, pulling them back to the present.

Chase examined the wood grain of the table closely, clearly mulling over the question. "I honestly don't know," she looked up, blue eyes murky with something indefinable. "I've gone through it in my head so many damn times since it all happened, and I still can't say either way if I could have done something differently and kept him alive. The truth is though, even if I could, I don't know that I would have. Ewan had a wife, two kids, and his death nearly killed our mother; I don't know if I could have kept his killer alive if given the chance."

Paul glanced around the table at the others before speaking. "I can't say for anyone else but myself, but I think that's something we call all understand here. Some times, in our world, ideals just don't hold up. You end up doing things you'd never thought yourself capable of and your morals just get so twisted with time. I don't think any one here will judge you either way though."

The dark woman smiled a little. "That's always good to know, but I'm getting the impression it's because of these...moments of questionable behaviour, that we were chosen."

~~~

They stood in her kitchen for several minutes, silent and for the first time in years, actually uncomfortable, and Amy found herself cursing this mission for coming up, Victor for being able to convince her, and herself for not talking all that much to be. "Hey," she broke the silence. "You guys want to order something in for dinner. I know it's late and all but I don't think many of us had much to eat."

Seizing on the idea, Janet nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

Glancing about the room as though searching for something, Amy looked up at her friends. "Would you mind ordering? I mean you do know where all the menus are kept and I think I'm going to actually get dressed."

She actually looked uncomfortable, and recognising this, Max shoved aside the conflict and confusion, slipping into the roll she'd played for the last few years of best friend. "Sure. Any preference?"

Turning as she walked towards her bedroom, Amy tossed an easy smile over her shoulder. "Surprise me."

Max returned and held the smile until the moment disappeared around the corner of the hall leading towards her bedroom. Her dark eyes holding something indecipherable, she looked at Janet, her expression mixture of a thousand different things. "Did you see her collar bone?" she asked softly.

Wearing a very similar expression of disgust, horror, anger, and heartbreak, Janet nodded. Despite her robe being firmly tied at her thin waist, when Amy had turned to smile, the shift moved the fabric. The bruise was still fresh, angrily swollen, and stretched from god knew where beneath the white cloth. "I did."

Her jaw clenched with enough force to make a dentist explode in horror and lecture her for the next hour, as Max bit back on the ignition of fury. "I'll fucking kill the bastard," the dark woman swore, all the conviction, righteous anger, and determination colouring the words.

She did something that years ago, she never would have dared; her arm across Max's shoulders, Janet gave her friend a squeeze. "No, we'll kill both of them together, only we're going to make it long, thorough, and last a month," she declared before pulling the drawer open that housed multiple takeout menus.

"Two for good measure," Max quipped with a dangerous grin. "Now, Greek, Mexican, or Thai, because I swear if I see another pizza this month it will be too soon. I've got to get the stakeout crew to have a little imagination!"

~~~

"Okay, so I know you've already been asked a question and you're supposed to be asking me and all, but..." Sam set her knife and fork down, foregoing food for the moment in preference to banish the niggling confusion. "Please tell me if I'm crazy or not, but did you not have brown eyes before?"

Exchanging a look, Paul and Josh gave Chase a closer inspection; both finally picking up on what had perplexed Jordan. Ryan grinned. "I did." She fished a small case out of a pocket and dropped it on the table. "Contact lenses. Forgot I had them in and had to go get rid of them; they were irritating the hell out of my eyes."

Sam picked up the tiny plastic case, turning it over in her hand for a moment. "Why were you wearing brown contacts?" she asked curiously.

Again, Chase smiled. "What I was in the middle of when I was pulled to attend the briefing here. Sort of recon, but more being able to remain unnoticed by others. It's a new thing they are trying out on a group of trainees; a small town or setting is recreated, filled with people playing particular roles and they have to figure out who's hostile, friendly, or just part of the scenery. General idea is if they pick all the people out they are supposed to, they pass. As of when I was pulled, they were missing by one person."

"You?" Sam asked and gained a nod in response. "So, you pretended to be just another bit of the scenery and they had to pick you out as hostile? Why the change of eyes though?"

At that, Chase let an easy grin slip across her lips. "When most people meet me, their first observation is my height. After that, it's my eyes, and through experience, people tend to remember me because of them. *I* was being tested upon my ability to remain undetected. I'd just moved into position to take the 'good-guys' out when a suit blew my cover."

All it really took was a single look at the dark blue eyes to understand exactly what Chase meant. Not only was the colour striking, but the dark woman possessed one of the most intense gazes Sam had ever come across, a fact undoubtedly aided by the complete lack of readability in them. There was a lot of weight and power in the dark blue, and Sam understood why it might be cause for concern when trying to remain undetected; it was a gaze /she/ wouldn't forget any time soon.

Chase waited until the redhead nodded before nudging her with an elbow. "Ever had an ex show up at an inopportune time and complicate matters?"

Green eyes blinked at the abstract question before Sam let out a laugh, a blush dusting across her cheeks. "Yes. A very bad time," she admitted with a chuckle. "Actually, that entire day, was one disaster after another. It started on base, with a simple prank..."

~~~

Amy slid the pair of worn jeans up her leg and over her bare hip, smiling faintly at the comfortable fit the old pants had. Soft and pliable more like straight cotton, the faded once-blue jeans had rips in the knees from too many rough-and-tumble visits with her younger brother and many years worth of paint splatter. The garment definitely wasn't one she would wear out, but the familiarity and memories that came with the damage and mark lent a comfort she found herself willing to indulge in. She paused, one arm in the sleeve of a dark blue button up shirt, the second halfway through, and stared at her reflection.

The purple and blue covered her shoulder and partway down her chest, making movement of her left arm mildly tight. Near the last few ribs on her left side, a white bandage freshly applied after her shower stood out starkly against her tan skin, hiding the still present stitches from the knife. She knew if she turned, lifted her shirt, and glanced over her right shoulder into the mirror, she'd see the bullet hole that had set the precedence for all of the other injuries gained. She didn't though. She knew what the wound looked like, and could rattle off the long list from memory.

She finished pushing her arm through and tugged the shirt over her shoulder, hiding the bruise and collection of new scars. She didn't pay much attention as she automatically began to button the shirt closed, her mind wandering over things she'd prefer to leave alone. When Amy blinked and refocused her gaze, the slightly large shirt was closed and she stood there, in front of her mirror, looking a lot more like the simple young woman she wasn't. The long sleeves of the shirt hung halfway down her fingers, covering the gauze wrapped around her wrists and palm of her right hand, but she knew it would undoubtedly get in the way later. Folding the fabric up a few times, until the sleeves reached just below her shoulder, she gave a tiny nod to herself and left the room to find her friends.

~~~

"...and by the time I realised what was happening, I was soaked, near buck-assed naked, and my ex standing in the doorway with my CO," Jordan said with grin, igniting another round of laughter among her companions. "Trying to explain it was...an experience. Somehow though, I managed to avoid brig time, but still haven't lived it down."

"No wonder!" Paul exclaimed. "After you did that to a senior officer?"

"I'm sure running nearly naked through the base had more to do with it," Carmen commented with an amused smirk.

"Undoubtedly," Sam agreed. "Every now and then, the photos from that entire...war resurface and do the rounds again. Water balloons, or more correctly, condoms are still banned on base though," she added with a grin.

Paul snickered. "I'm surprised they weren’t before, and you know, it definitely says something if they're banned for being used as balloons instead of for other reasons."

Jordan merely grinned and shrugged before saying, "Everyone knows they are the best for it! But yeah, that was just one of the many prank wars that's taken place since I was posted on base. For a place that's not supposed to exist and tends to be populated by military and scientists, we ended up being pretty informal some of the time. Then again, when Cabin Fever sets in, everybody goes a little crazy, rank or not," she finished with a small smile.

"How long've you been serving there?" Josh asked with his quiet curiosity. Being military himself and in the intelligence branches, he'd heard rumours of the sort of testing and research done in the northern base, Jordan had briefly made reference to. The terms 'cutting edge,' 'top secret,' and 'sensitive' didn't even come close to beginning to describe the complex Crichton had heard allusions to existing in the frozen wastelands.

Flashing a grin, Sam knew the inquiry that lurked behind the question. "Couple of years now. It was strange to be there at first, with it as isolated as it was not just in terms of secrecy, but as a physical location. For hundreds of miles around, there's just nothing. Tundra, permafrost, and mountains." She quirked another grin. "And the stars. You should see the Borealis, though; it's absolutely unbelievable, especially if you crank up Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon' or 'Division Bell.' Then, the colours dance and twist across the sky. It's...breath-taking and makes you feel like a kid again, just watching in awe and wonder; you quickly understand the native myths around them."

"Sounds incredible," Paul commented. "I haven't been able to get far enough north to see the northern lights."

"Where I grew up in Montana, you can see them faintly. If you think they're awesome though, you should see the Aurora Australis," Chase said with a smile. "Have family down in New Zealand, and I visited a couple of years ago."

"Seeing them both is pretty cool," Sam added, before giving a secretive smile, "Especially when you see them both in one day. Down south, you get more reds and up north, there seems to be a lot more green. Both are an experience and a half though." The pilot flicked her green gaze over to the man sitting at the head of their table, his seat backwards as his arms were folded across the back. "So, Paul. What on earth possessed you to let yourself get taken by April Ninth? You don't really strike me as the suicidal or full-of-yourself type convinced of your own invincibility."

Mercer made a slight face at the name of the terrorist cell he'd managed to help foil. Completely US-based and made up of right-wing fundamentalists, and general crackpots, they'd been a right nuisance on the eastern seaboard of the US. First making themselves known in 2003, they very nearly had been ignored in preference of bigger fish to fry until they made a hell of a name for themselves through a series of bombs, sniper sprees, and stuttering biological threats. They still remained small scale as far as many were concerned, but on a cold February night in New Jersey, 2005, they literally exploded onto the world stage of being nasty buggers. Hijacking a train filled with Friday night travellers, they seemed bent on taking out the award for 'Best New Talent' in the terrorist version of an award show.

"I'm not, not anymore and in some ways, it was a little unintentional," he responded. "I grew up in your average middle-class family, in your average suburb outside'a Philly. I was as normal and average as could be: I didn't exactly play football, but I did play lacrosse and soccer and basically was just like every other kid. My family wasn't wealthy, but we weren't hard done by, so my childhood passed without major drama. As far as I was concerned, life was great -a little boring at times, but all together, not any great drama. I was just about to start my freshman year at U of Del when a couple of friends convinced me to have one last serious blow out before jumping into the grind of college life and take the train up to New York. We arrived on a Friday, I don't remember the weekend it was that crazy; I got a call, early Monday morning and flew back to Philly because my mom took a bit of a bad tumble at work. By the time Tuesday rolled around, I was stuck doing errands for her because she had to stay off her feet."

Watching the play of emotion and thought across the younger agent's face, Carmen read the set of his jaw, shifting grip of his left hand, and barest trace of a tremor to his other hand. "Paul. How old are you?"

A variable maelstrom of conflict and emotion in his dark eyes, Paul locked his own brown gaze with Carmen's. "I'll be 26 the end of December."

Closing her eyes and understanding without a doubt for the cause behind the minute shake, the CIA agent blew out a long breath. "It was the eleventh, wasn't it?" She knew the cause, and saw the tremble, because her own hand was curled into a fist to conceal the very same.

Paul nodded, feeling and trying to push back the frigid, hair-raising rush that accompanied the memories. "I didn't even know what'd happened until my best friend caught up to me an hour after the first one and told me a plane had been flown into the World Trade Center. I thought she meant like a little one and when she said they thought it was terrorists, it didn't mean a damn thing to me. I was a Philly-boy; I didn't know what the hell the WTC towers were. Then, I saw the live-feed and realised just what in the hell was going on. I got home and sat with my mother as we just stared at the TV as the towers came down." He remembered the brush of something cold and final as he'd stared at the screen, unable to breathe, blink, or tear his eyes away. It was like feeling death trailing its fingers across the back of your neck, a phantom gust of arctic wind slipping beneath the collar in search of warm, living skin and to seep in and close its fist around your heart. 

"Then, all the different reports started coming in about the north and south towers, DC, the fifth plane, and Shanksville -my grandparents live just outside of Shanksville for Christ's sake. I /played/ in that field my summers off school." What had one been familiar terrain, suddenly became unrecognisable with the charred remains of not just life and the plane, but something else intangible had lain lifeless in that field when he'd stood there a couple of weeks later.

"It was numbing and chilling all at the same time, watching the live-feeds and replays for hours on end, not really able to look away. Then, you start to wonder 'I live in Philadelphia. Are we next?' We were in the middle of the god-forsaken mess, and had no bloody clue if another plane was going to come down around our ears. New York had been hit, the towers had collapsed; the bloody Pentagon had damage, and by all rights, Philly was the next logical target. The targets at that point had been clearly against the US and things it stood for and you can't get more symbolic than Philadelphia; the city is seeped in American history. Not only was it initially the US capitol way back in 1773 and the Revolutionary War, but also it's one of the major industrial hubs of the region. Any one of the plants along the Delaware, or Peach Point could have been a devastating blow. One, the plants could easily have set off a chain of reactions and for those of you not familiar with the Delmarva Peninsula or the Mid-Atlantic region, Peach Point is a big-assed artificial island with a huge nuclear power plant built on it."

Josh gave a low whistle. "Exactly, man," Paul nodded. "Looking back and all, as in immediate target, it was soft and really wouldn't have been selected for initial attack. If it had been a hell of a lot more thought out and more than a couple of pointless planes on one day though, a few weeks later, Philly woulda been perfect."

It took a moment, but Sam nodded understand the point the young man was trying to make. "From a tactical standpoint, it makes sense to attack military and administrative targets first, then after they're reeling, attack a symbolic morale destroying target in addition to the new military HQ. The effect of the staggered attack would destroy the infrastructure and morale to the point of making the target ready to surrender; provided they were overrun quickly."

"There are flaws, of course, but as an initial set up for someone to have plans, it'd work," Josh added. 

"Yeah," Paul replied. "I guess you can tell what the next few weeks were like then, huh? Until that point, I'd lead a fairly sheltered life. I don't mean I didn't know that the world was a bastard and would run your ass over -you should see Philly at rush hour- but my parents did a damn good job of making sure I grew up safe. Until that day, I learned about world events and the atrocities people could visit upon each other but I'd never really felt it. I did then and with the bitter taste of mortality on my tongue, I made the single most impulsive, arguably stupid, and hopefully heroic choice of my life. After I made sure my grandparents were safe, I went back to New York to find my friends and do what I could. By the time I finally went back home a couple of weeks later, I'd put in to join the FBI."

Exhaling, he turned the events over in his mind, trying to push aside the still visceral reaction he always found himself confronted with when that day was brought up. "When April Ninth took the train, I listened to my instincts with both ears. After seeing what happened a three and half earlier, I couldn't let civilians be used again for some damn statement; so that some moron could make a fucking point." The muscle along his strong jaw pulsing for a moment as he clenched his teeth, Paul blew out a long breath. "I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I walked into that tunnel and onto that train other than that I was not going to stand by and just watch. In the end, all of the psychological shit and mind game tactics that had been shoved down my throat for the last three and a half years kicked in and ended up saving our collective asses."

Staring down at his now empty plate, he used the tip of his knife to nudge an escaped corn kernel for a moment. "They called me a hero after they finished telling me how incredibly stupid I was, but I still don't quite agree with them. I did what I felt was right, what I felt I had to do. I don't want to seem like I'm another one of those insane post 9-11 crusaders, because I'm not. That day, like so many others, just affected my life. Before then, I was a bit of an arrogant shit and had absolutely no plans to throw my life in the line of fire for others. I wasn't necessarily self-absorbed, but just concerned with my little circle of the world, you know?"

Chase smiled a little. "A lot of us were. All of us also start out that way, Paul; it's just part of being human."

"Oh, I know that, but I just hate how every now and then, normally in April, they have to go and dredge it all up again," he made a face that spoke clearly of annoyance. "I see it a lot the same way I see the Eleventh. I don't want to do the yearly rehash, or watch all of the latest reconstructions. We know what the hell happened. We all know that it happened in the span of anywhere from an hour to two. I *hate* seeing all of the bullshit each and every year, and I'm even more sick of people with the balls to accuse me of being less of an American just because I don't want to relive it all and carry on about the glory of the American military might. I got lucky and didn't lose anyone, sure. I wasn't directly affected by it in terms of losing a loved one or my home, but what I did feel was more than enough. I was an eighteen-year-old kid, scared out of my wits at everything I was feeling, and even today, six years later, I still feel exactly the same thing. That's enough without seeing the pictures, or the footage, or reconstructions. How are we supposed to move passed things and get over it if we persist in reliving it?" Exhaling wearily, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. Old subject and perpetual rant of mine. It just gets under my skin like nobody's business."

Beside him, Sam smiled and shook her head at the apology. "I think everyone has an opinion or view on the matter. It's incredibly hard not to, considering the simple fact that even though when compared against history it is small potatoes, it is a defining point in our lives. For us, this is our Great War or Holocaust. It isn't anywhere near the same, but for us, for our generation, it is one of the critical points because of its fallout." She gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "I can't speak for Crichton or anyone else in the military, but I understand what you're saying and some of me agrees. However, I am a scientist first and soldier second up here," she tapped the side of her head. "So maybe I just have a different perspective than other's. I'll tell you this though; my grandfather who served with the Army Corps of Engineers and was among those to first set foot in the Camps would approve of and agree with you. He hated Veteran’s Day, Memorial Day, and all that sort of thing because he just wanted to let the memories be."

"I think there are a lot of us that way," Carmen offered. "There are some things you remember and you'll pay tribute to, but the sensationalism that surrounds it from others who don't really understand it is repulsive."

Paul nodded. "Yes. Exactly. I have no issue with people remembering their loved ones who've fallen or celebrating the nation's history, but it's the mindless celebration that just feels wrong."

"Like they are celebrating death," the quiet young man said to Paul's left. "It's never really sat well with me either. I'm just damn glad I'd be of no use over in the Mid-East because I can't imagine what the hell I'd do if sent over there."

Nodding, Sam agreed, "Tell me about it. I'm damn lucky my current CO has enough of a standing to flat-out refuse any request for my transfer out and east. Besides, the Arabian sun would just be murder on my complexion," she quipped with a sparkling grin, intentionally nudging the conversation.

Josh smirked. "You mean your pasty-assed whiteness?"

"Oi!" She threw her napkin across the table at the young man. "My ass is not pasty for your information, and I just look anaemic next to the Amazon woman," she exclaimed jerking a thumb in Chase's direction. "I'll have you know, I have a nice summer tan, you cheeky shit." The entire group relaxed into laugher and friendly banter as the previous subject wasn't quite forgotten, but carefully nudged aside back into dusty memory.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four, as posted on the 12th of January, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in this part, we're introduced to new gadgets, NWI headquarters, a panicked Lucy, and some actual plot movement...though it might just be sideways. The estimation for flights in the end of this? After spending forever trying to figure it out commercially, I finally just took round about times that I managed to get and shaved some off for private jets. [grins] But, it is relatively accurate, within an hour or three. Oh, and the bulk of this chapter: pure BS I made up on the spot as I wrote it. I haven’t gone back really to check my facts or statements so if anything is terribly off, please lemme know.

HAPTER FOUR

Tossing a 'farewell' over her shoulder, Lucy resettled her sunglasses to rest across the bridge of her nose as she left the newsagent’s, a paper tucked under one arm. As she stepped around another of the early morning travellers, the dark woman spared the young girl being tugged along a friendly smile. It was already warm, despite the early hour and late month, but being Brazil that was half-expected. Lucy was more than acclimated to and preferred the temperate climates anyway, as she'd spent the bulk of her childhood on the Mediterranean and Caribbean. The two years in Iceland had only enforced this preference and served to harden the thief's resolve surrounding her heart to rival the frozen blue of winter.

As always, a small part of the slender thief's attention remained acutely aware of her surroundings, and with a negligent confidence envied by many, she effortlessly navigated the busy street, despite shaking open her paper. She continued along, scanning through the front and second page stories, skimming the world events, and eventually folding the paper as she continued to walk. Lucy wasn't actually quite reading the page; that would take far too long for her liking. Instead, her warm eyes shadowed by dark glasses methodically and precisely slid over the contents of each page, selecting desired information and immediately discarding most else.

Most wouldn't realise it, but beneath the indifferences, larrikin, and apathic attitude displayed to most of the world, Lucy was in possession of an exceptional mind. She passed Scud off as the logistics man frequently and was credited with a sharp wit and clever streak, but her intelligence had never really been exposed as public knowledge. People didn't know she already held a degree or four and had attended prestigious and highly acclaimed schools in the carefree days of her youth. They wouldn't believe it either, especially not a certain proctor in California -the truth from that episode was rooted in a lark. She kept her intelligence hidden for a very simple reason: abundant underestimation.

Suddenly, in the middle of the sidewalk, she halted mid-stride, staring at the paper. Her dark gaze flashed across the text a second and a third time, before comprehension sunk in and the brown eyes widened. Then, just as unexpectedly as Lucy had frozen, she bolted, heading back towards her Rio headquarters at a full sprint, a curse on her tongue and worry's tight fist enclosing her heart.

~~~

A few hours later and several thousand miles away, standing on the underground platform, a pretty young blonde patiently waited for her group to arrive. She knew they would be on the next train, and so she rested against a pillar, relaxed and casual. To the few other occupants of the station that chilled morning, the young woman seemed like another office girl waiting for the train to work. Her trim form encased in casual black slacks, a ribbed navy turtle-neck that contrasted with her lighter Caribbean gaze, and black, knee-length trench coat drew a number of appreciative glances, though she made no gesture to encourage them. Instead, the quiet blue eyes remained on the tunnel in front of her as she waited and pondered.

At Victor's suggestion, Amy was to bring the group to NWI headquarters via one of the very well hidden entrances. It would take a bit of doing, and was normally used by those still out in the field, but had the right amount of deceptive twists, turns, and outright mystery to strike wonder. For the seasoned agent, it was just another way to access the hidden HQ, but for someone who was completely in the dark about the organisation, the journey would give a glimpse of just how deep the rabbit hole went. It was a novice trick, yes, but Amy both understood and agreed with Devlan's motivation behind it. In many ways, the manoeuvre would serve to press home the fact that NWI was very much so a professional outfit.

Roused from her meandering by the groan of the arriving train, Amy straightened. She watched idly, unconsciously tagging and profiling, as those waiting stepped into the train, and a few disembarked. The paper bag one of them had thrown away should only contain a banana peel and the cellophane from a fresh pack of cigarettes that had been hastily stuffed into a pocket before stepping onto the platform. She shifted the bulk of her attention to the new arrivals, offering them a mild smile as they crossed the platform to her. Waiting a scant breath until the train pulled away, the quick blue gaze swept through the station to ensure no one else remained before pushing off from the pillar, her voice tinged with amusement. "I take it you had no problems finding the train."

The young man from DIA covered a yawn and shook his head. "It was more catching the right one. I think I nearly ended up on the first one." Crichton frowned for just a moment. "I gotta say though, the whole get on the 08:23 train is rather precise in a creepy sorta way."

This time, Amy spared the young man a grin as she led the group over to a door. "That, you'll have to take up with Rory. She gets far too much of a kick out of tiny details some times. And anyway, as someone told me once, the government's kinda freaky like that...though we aren’t government." Barely slowing down, Amy withdrew a key from one of her pockets and slid it into the door. With a flick of her wrist, the tumblers turned over; her sensitive and trained ears picked up the muted 'click' and the heavy steel opened as she pushed it in. She held the door open and gestured for the group to pass her as she pushed it shut, hearing it automatically lock once again.

Peering around the grey corridor, Jordan glanced back at the blonde. "How far and why do I think this is only part of the journey?" she asked with a curiosity that was fast becoming a familiar constant to the new arrivals.

Amy offered up another mildly enigmatic smile. "Because it is."

"So, how come you guys don't worry about people picking the lock and following you where ever these halls take us?" Paul asked, letting the blonde brush pass him once again as she began to lead them down the bland path.

"One, because these tunnels go on for miles." Inwardly, Amy winced at the memory provoked by those very words being spoken to her years before, and behind her, she wondered if Janet was experiencing the same. "And two," she held up a finger. "That lock can't be picked." She pulled the key out of her pocket and turned slightly, holding the slim metal up. "Notice anything interesting?" She let Mercer take the key from her as he frowned.

"It's not cut. How in the hell does that work?" He handed it off Rourke as she reached for it. It made the rounds quickly, returning to Amy within a few moments.

Once it was back in her grasp and she dropped it safely into her pocket once again, Amy answered Mercer's earlier question as she resumed walking. "It's one of Rory's and my toys. After one too many close calls with picking locks -no matter how good I am at it- I idly said something one day that got her thinking. After a couple of weeks of trials, we finally had a working model. The basic principle the Master key works off of is that it...reads the lock, for lack of a more specific term. Every lock has a basic composition of tumblers and a specific set, a pattern, that the tumblers have to be manipulated into. I can pick a lock like nobody's business," she flashed a charming smile at them. "But the Master, once inserted, automatically finds the exact manipulation pattern and adapts as required as though made for that exact lock."

"How many different locks can it work on?" Rouke asked, with clear interest.

"All standard key sizes. Unfortunately, larger or smaller locks like some padlocks, screen doors, and ATVs require something smaller, more like the original key size. This one can break nearly any door, every car I've tried, and even a motorbike or seven," Amy replied with more than a hint of pride. "It sure has come in handy and reduced the need for hotwiring, let me tell you." Her comment drew a number of chuckles as they rounded a corner. "And you know how the high-end cars have that anti-theft electronic key? Well, the master has no issue matching that, too."

"So, what does the key that can be any key have to do with a lock that can't be picked?" Amy heard the low voice and instinctively knew the speaker to be the Marshal, Ryan. She glanced back and up at the dark woman, privately amused at actually having to look up at another woman. Amy might not have been excessively tall, but more often than not, she found herself surrounded by the vertically challenged.

"The lock can't be picked because it requires one of the Master keys to unlock it. The lock's configuration changes randomly, and it requires a code from the computer chip in the key. That bit that unlocks the anti-theft electronic locks? The door has the corresponding reader, and if the signal from the key isn't sent, steel bars lock the door in place. Unpickable."

"Nice," Max spoke up, offering her thoughts. It was odd for her, seeing Amy back in this world, but also having her move about comfortably through the cloaks and daggers. For all their missions and undercover work, as they progressed through the Academy, they hadn't done much in the James Bond style of espionage. It was definitely more than a little disconcerting to not only see her best friend so intimately familiar with it, but also using technology Max hadn't even known existed. Hell, that she had never even dreamed of.

At the single word from her friend, Amy shifted her eyes to Max for a moment before nodding, accepting the praise at face value. "We thought so," was her soft reply as she stopped before a set of featureless double, metal doors. Stepping into the recessed doorjamb, the blonde turned to the wall and confidently flipped open an expertly concealed panel. Pushing aside the inner cover, a gel illuminated by an electric-blue light was exposed. Chase couldn't help but immediately think of the pink goo from the Abyss or Ghostbusters II. Amy pushed her hand into the non-sticky, viscous substance, and waited for the detailed reader to absorb her information. As the cool coagulation oozed over the backs of her fingers and left only the back of her hand exposed, the agent knew that not only was every line, scar, and crease read and compared against the very precise and exhaustive database, but a DNA sample was taken and quickly run. A hiss to her right told her the massive mainframe of NWI was satisfied with her identity.

Taking a step back, Amy waited until both doors swung completely inward under their own control before walking into the newly revealed chamber. As the others followed behind her, they were surprised to find themselves on yet another underground train platform. At the curious glances thrown her way, Amy smiled and stepped up to a console, tapping in a rapid sequence.

A faintly disembodied voice of a small female child spoke, making the rest of the group jump and glance about in wonder and startlement as it greeted Amy. /"Good Morning, Gryphon. The car will be here momentarily."/

"Thank you, Angie," Amy responded to the AI, keying in a second sequence before stepping away from the platform. "Please tell Rory we should be onsite in less than five minutes."

/"Very good. And should I also remind her that you'll be held up in security with your guests?"/

Grinning at the sweet voice and gentle tease held for the computer's creator, Amy nodded. "Yes, thank you. Ah." The agent heard the quiet hum of the approaching single car train. "I'll see you onsite, Ash," she said as she waved the quiet group into the train once the doors slid open. "Oh, and please let Victor know I'm on my way."

/"Of course. He is already anticipating your arrival."/

"Thanks, Ash," Amy repeated, taking a step into the car as the doors slid shut. Just before they closed, she heard the warm reply.

/"Always, Miss Amy."/

As Amy watched the others peer about the clearly very advanced transport system and watch her in turn, the blonde felt a smile tugging at her lips. It finally broke out when the redheaded Air Force pilot let out a low whistle. "You know, I deal with some pretty advanced stuff on a regular basis, but you can colour me impressed now," Sam declared, to the agreement of the others.

"Hell, yes." Paul nodded as he stared around him in no small amount of wonder, hastily grabbing hold of his seat when he felt the train picking up speed. "How fast are we moving?" he inquired, instinctively knowing that despite the lack of detectable g-forces on his body, they had to be moving at ludicrous speed.

"Very fast, and if it's Angie that impresses you, let Rory know, she always appreciates feedback, and if it's this thing." Amy smiled softly as she gestured vaguely to the car they sat in, "I might be able to track someone down for you to tell. I should warn you though, it's only going to get worse."

"You mean aside from true master keys, a fully aware AI with complete personality strikingly similar to the Red Queen, the single most advanced print system I've ever seen, and private sub-sonic train-lines?" Chase asked with no small amount of amusement. "Why do I have the sudden impression that this assignment is going to be a hybrid of one of those cheesy monthly action espionage novels and a William Gibson wet dream?"

Amy chuckled at the wry question, bending down to sit across from the tall woman. "Because, with Nightwatch, it always is. Since my first mission with them, it's always been...nothing short of amazing. I mean, even though none of this-" she gestured around them. "...phases me, it doesn't mean there aren't things that don't. Part of what is so damned fascinating about the place is that there are always new things being created and tested out. Granted, that makes it a little more hectic, with field testing, but it keeps things from going stale."

Four minutes later, after travelling at the previously stated and very vague 'very fast,' the train car smoothly slid to a halt, but as if determined to be surly, there was a quick jolt as they stopped. "Stupid thing," Amy muttered darkly, glaring at the carriage as though the rough stop was intentional. "I'll have to tell Drew it's being ornery again." She led the way off of the car and paused for a breath to let the group glance around the nondescript white and grey platform. "C'mon campers, we have to make a not-so-quick detour through security before you'll be allowed into HQ. Even then, you still don't get backstage passes."

Giving her a quizzical look, Paul nodded to himself as he took in his surroundings. "How come?"

She smirked at the young man. "We're so Top Secret even our colleagues don't know about us, Mr. Mercer. We don't let anyone wander around NWI unless we are absolutely positive about them." A shadow fell over her features. "We learned the hard way to be wary." Before anyone could question her statement further, Amy ushered them through a set of doors and into a separate section. Steel lined the walls with ribbing half a metre thick, making the room capable of withstanding more than a mildly heavy blast. It had been one of the great many renovations and measures set in place after the disastrous first months of NWI's infancy; no matter how determined a person was, they wouldn't be able to breach the headquarters through that avenue without a tactical missile strike.

"Hey, George. Sara." Amy flashed a warm smile to the pair dressed in black suits. The woman sat behind a large bank of monitors, her quick brown eyes following each report as the group filtered in. She returned the smile with a lip quirk of her own, half of it being from the concealed artillery carried throughout the group.

"Kiddo!" The large man Amy had called George exclaimed and stood, coming around to sweep her up carefully in a bear of a hug. At a few inches shy of seven feet, with shoulders characteristic of a rugby player, and a clear mass of muscle beneath his tailored suit, George was a mountain of a man. He was also a complete and utter teddy bear when it came to Amy, something immediately apparent in his warm welcome. "Haven't seen you comin' through here lately," the man commented, finally putting the young woman down from his impromptu lift. In contrast to the intimidation his bulk provided, he was incredibly gentle with the blonde, partially because she was dwarfed by his sheer mass, but mostly because the stark reminders of her injuries were still unmistakable. "These the new pups?" the security man asked, jerking his chin in the group's direction.

"Yup," Amy responded easily, accepting the welcoming hug from George's partner as the slight brunette left her station to greet her. "I know you guys'll've been working on their clearance, but I wanted to get them temp passes; the basic stuff for now."

"Of course. Of course," George nodded, motioning the group towards a corner. "Victor wants you to head straight for the briefing rooms. He, Ror, and Jonny should be awaitin' fer ya."

Amy nodded. "He say which?"

"Gaia, C-IV-Euripides," Sara responded from where she'd retreated behind the computer bank, quickly working through the tags they'd need to give the newbies.

Again, the blonde nodded, easily knowing which room the odd descriptor indicated. Originally, NWI had followed suit with many of the other agencies and adopted the military's phonetic alphabet, but after the disasters in the beginning, they'd simply started doing things their own way. Codes, for example, were one of the changes. Instead of the typical alpha, bravo, and Zulu, they not only used names from mythology, but there were multiple options and rotated on a whim. It was confusing for the unfamiliar, but once you had a grasp of it, it flowed. Amy found it a hell of a lot more interesting than Charlie, echo, and motel.

"Gaia? Euripides?" Josh spoke up from where he stood against a wall, a bright flash from a camera momentarily blinding him.

"Gaia section," Amy replied, smiling at the confusion audible. The other bonus of the strange code being that it was entertaining to watch people try and make sense of the odd combination of names from a mythology book. "Nightwatch is divided into seven divisions: Ares, Bast, Dagda, Erishkigal, Freja, and Gaia. Of course, those designations change depending upon to whom you talk, but we generally know. Gaia section is personnel, and that general sort. At headquarters - here - Gaia section is where the briefing and conference rooms are and that's where we're headed. 'Charlie-Four-Euripides' is the specific room. It all sounds really confusing and impressive now," she flashed a disarming smile. "-but once you get the hang of it, it's really quite simple."

A good twenty minutes or so later, Amy led the group out of the security chamber through the vault-like door. "Keep those badges around your necks at all times and don't stray from the path or the wolf will eat you. It's not that we don't trust you...it's that we don't trust anyone," she turned to give the group a smile and remove any real sting from the words. "It seriously isn't personal, we're just a little on the...psychotic side when it comes to people moving around on base."

"Bad experience?" Chase queried, her voice pitched low as she discretely took in her surroundings.

Amy gave the taller woman a glance, wondering what lurked behind the perceptive question. She'd obviously been broadcasting. She'd have to watch for that. "Something like that," she responded with purposeful vagueness. "I'm sure you'll hear about it at some point or the other, but for now-" Amy reached out to slap a panel to call a lift to their location. "Victor's waiting."

~~~

A short while later, the newly formed group was in a conference room very similar to the one in which they'd met. The main difference between the two was the sheer amount of technology present, inset in the walls as display units and computer monitors. As she assumed they were under ground, Max found the lack of windows understandable, but as she turned in a full circle, taking in a simple moment, she wondered just how much further ahead this group was in advances if things like the Master Key and that AI were any indication, not to mention that damn high speed train. She sure as hell knew that Amy had access to things she'd never dreamed existed outside of Frank Herbert's fevered imaginings. Continuing her slow, thorough inspection of the room, the DEB took a covert moment to also observe her new and former colleagues.

A large rectangular table dominated the room and the group sat in a series of high-backed chairs surrounding it. At the end facing the door, Amy relaxed in her seat, apparently casually at ease in her chair and with the familiar surroundings. The calm was a mask, Max knew that much at least; the blonde radiated a subtle tension. The chair immediately to her right was empty, clearly left for her by Janet, who sat in the next. Beside the Secret Service agent, the friendly FBI agent Mercer idly turned his chair from side-to-side as he chatted easily with the young man to his right. Next to the DIA officer, the quietly mysterious Agent Rourke seemed to be gathering her own unobtrusive observations on her fellows, unreadable brown eyes tracing their way through the room.

Across from them, the three seats to Amy's left remained unoccupied, Samantha Jordan taking the seat closest to the other end of the table. Next to her, Deputy Marshal Ryan talked easily with the pilot, making the redhead laugh every now and then. Max had finally just claimed her seat next to Amy when another two slipped into the room, the young man and woman giving Amy happy smiles. The younger of the two sported a dark shade of blue hair and from the way mischief quickly changed the grin, Max immediately wondered at the newcomer's identities.

Her question was quickly answered as Amy stood and let the first and then the second engulf her into quick hugs before dropping down into their seats. The woman took the closest to Amy, her eyes almost golden as they sparkled with private mirth, the young man sitting beside her with a much more subdued manner.

"God, it's good to have you back," Rory informed the agent beside her without preamble, her expression serious for all her barely contained energy, her leg bouncing rapidly as she spoke. "I know that everyone here's great and all, but I've missed my playmate."

"Just sucks it's gotta be this mission though," John added.

"Someone has to catch him, Jonny," Amy responded, calmness dominating her tone. She glanced at the rest of the group. "Everyone, you'll probably be getting to know these two fairly quickly. That is John Sanders, one of the tech department heads and if you need something you're best off going to him." The young man gave a warm smile to the group and a little wave. "This one," Amy gestured to the woman beside her. "Is Rory, geek extraordinaire and master of anything with a circuit board or an electrical current. Also, a certified genius. While she's technically our expert and one in charge of all things in the way of support, tech, and anything your little, gadget-loving heart desires, John is the guy you'll actually want to talk to. More often than not, Rory will be neck deep in one project or the other. Either that, or she'll scare you off with her spastic tendencies."

Rory shot a mock glare at the blonde. "I'm always spaz and that's why you love me. Admit it." She turned to the others. "I'm not as bad as she makes me sound."

"No, you're worse. You make me call you, Decker, " John quickly commented, grinning at the girl beside him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. /You're/ just jealous of my mad leet skills," she shot back.

It was impossible to miss the way Amy relaxed a little with the entrance of the other too, and not realise the three had a history. Some part of both Max and Janet felt a twinge of discomfort at the bond Amy obviously had with her present colleagues. Even after four years, despite having private jokes, playing, and living with each other, there was always a hint of reserve around the statuesque blonde. Seeing her like this with people she knew professionally and worked with made both wonder: how well did they know Amy? How well did anyone? If she was the famed 'perfect liar,' then what should be taken as truth and what as fabrication? Max shoved aside the questions that she thought she'd managed to lock away two years ago. That road led to only madness, and after everything they'd been through, was a betrayal to Amy. Resolutely, she forced her attention back to the exchange still being carried on, the others heedless of her momentary crisis of faith.

"Mad leet skills? I don't think so. Who's got the high score on Minesweeper?" John quipped, exchanging a grin with Amy. He quickly bent away from Rory as she took a mock swing at him.

"Why, I oughta..."

"Down, Rory," Victor commanded, stepping into the room. He offered a quick grin to his head geek. "You can pounce on John later and choke him until he's as blue in the face as the hair on your head." The young man in question snickered. "Right now, we really should get some work done. I assume you all had no particular issues on your way here?" he asked the group.

"More like, we ended up curious as all hell over this place you have," Sam said. "I tend to spend a lot of time on projects that don't exist, but some of the stuff I've seen your girl using or just...this place..." Sam trailed off, shaking her head in wonderment.

Victor flashed a proud grin. "We might be new to the game compared to some of the institutions, but I make sure my people have the best tools for the job. And if we don't have the tool, we make it." When he spoke again, his voice clearly possessed a more professional tone, the undercurrent of command clear and unmistakable in his cultured voice. "At this point, you would all normally be run through a battery of tests and evals to determine just how closely you reach our standards, surpass them, or need work. Then, of course, there's another lot of exams where unspeakable things happen to you that would actually help in the long run." Victor flashed a grin that held more than a touch of mischief, but was clearly meant to be reassuring. "However, as this entire mess has been since the beginning, it's still a little hectic around here and we have to start off with a briefing. You will not be deployed on this mission, though you will be permitted to observe in realtime and, should the need arise, offer opinions."

"How come you want us to listen in then?" Paul spoke up, curiosity clear on his boyish features.

He nearly rolled his eyes, but Victor stepped on the impulse, instead giving the younger man an indulgent smile. "Because you are a team. You are supposed to be able to work together as efficiently as possible. The way you do that is either learning about each other and how you all work together, or falling backwards into each other's arms and singing Kumbayah. I don't have time for trust falls and campfires, so it's going to be a mission. Not one for you all, but for Amy." The group all looked down to the far end of the table where the blonde sat; she didn't respond or speak, waiting calmly for Victor to pose his inquiry. "You've set it up?"

"Sort of," she said vaguely. Her blue gaze flicked up to Victor. "Just, please don't ask me how."

Devlan shook his head and slid his hands into his pockets, letting his shoulder rest near a bank of the inset monitors, his pose purposefully casual and relaxed. "I make a point of never asking my informants where they get their intel when I trust them." The briefing shifted, reduced to a seemingly casual conversation between the two as the others remained silent, watching. "All I need to know is one thing..." Amy mentally braced herself for whatever question Victor would ask. "What's your DZ?"

Letting a sigh out and dropping her shoulders a little, the young woman wondered for another time in many years at the unwavering trust Victor continued to show her. "Spain's the drop zone," she replied.

He nodded. "Okay, that's easy enough. Any place in particular?"

Amy glanced away, a tiny hint of a smile quirking across her lips. "Ibiza." She felt his eyes and everyone else's on her for a long moment before Victor laughed.

"I'll give her her due; Diamond sure as hell knows how to choose interesting meeting places," he commented with an amused shake of his head.

"'Privilege,'" Amy added, catching him momentarily confused.

"Pardon?" he asked politely before remembering. His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise and a look of respect passed across his handsome features. "That's brilliant. Messy to prepare for, but guarantees privacy."

Amy laughed. "Yeah, privacy amidst eight to thirty thousand bodies. But, that's the point. It's some place secure in anonymity and impossible to tail."

"Do you mean 'Privilege,' as in super giant, world's biggest night club on Ibiza, the party isle of the jet set?" John spoke up from Amy's left. His question served to both clue the others in and surprise them with his unexpected knowledge. "What?" He grinned at the bewildered stares. "Don't let the pretty face fool you, I know the best parties and the hottest clubs in the world, keyboard jockey or not."

"And that's why you'll be running the set-up on the meet, John," Victor responded, pushing off from the wall and swivelling his chair away from the table to drop into it. "Rory will cover the background on the bulk of the op and co-ordinate as needed, but you'll be setting up as we go. Now, that can be taken care of after this. At the moment, you need to be debriefed on Diamond, Amy," Victor told her.

Nodding, Amy gave a slightly rueful smile. "That would be a really good idea, Victor, considering I don't know anything she's been up to for the last two and a half years," she admitted, not missing the looks of surprise both Janet and Max sported.

"I know," Devlan responded. "I didn't miss the fact that you've completely avoided anything even remotely associated with her the entire time we've worked together. Of course, half the reason for that might be how busy you've been kept," he gave her a quirk of a smile before turning his attention to the blue haired woman beside her. "Rory?"

The code monkey nodded and tapped a few keys on the touch pad before her seat on the table. From the center of the table, light flared, coalescing into a rotating holographic NWI logo that hovered about six inches off the surface of the table. "Right. So, for everyone's benefit, and to make sure we're all on the same page, I give you: Lucy Diamond." The same hauntingly familiar photo used a lifetime ago in another briefing solidified before Amy. "Last of the Reynolds Crime Syndicate, inherited the business with the death of her father Alejandro, her mother having died a year prior. Reasons for Eva Reynolds' death being unknown at this point, so we don't know if it was part of the feud with the Schaffer clan or not."

"It wasn't," Amy spoke without thinking, her eyes glued to the holographic representation of a face she hadn't dared look at in years. "She got very sick and a month later passed away."

Blinking at Amy, Rory gave the blonde a speculative look. "O-kay, well, that answers that question, but it isn't a part of the point, so we'll move on." She tapped another key as she continued speaking. "Immediately after the death of her mother, Diamond was credited with attempting to sink the continent of Australia, the reasons, again unknown." She shot a look at Amy, clearly wondering if she had another handy answer for that mystery.

Surprisingly, Amy laughed as she shook her head. "Nope, that one's still pretty much a mystery to me. I don't know why there is the whole hatred of a continent," she said, lying perfectly through her teeth.

Rory shrugged and continued. "Anyways, after her father's death, the feud came to a very bloody end over the course of the following year. The entire surviving clan of the Schaffer's were methodically wiped out, down to the last scion, an illegitimate teenaged daughter of one of the lesser members. Originally, rumours were that Eva had not in fact died in December of ‘98 and that she was the one taking them out."

"Why was that?" Paul spoke up, curious.

Beside Josh, Carmen replied, "Because Eva Reynolds was probably the best assassin the world had seen in her time."

"Exactly," Rory nodded, bringing up another photo. The name below it identified the woman as the woman in question, but Amy would have known even if she hadn't seen photos of Lucy's mother before. The family resemblance was unmistakable, though it was mostly in the haunting dark eyes both women possessed. The truth was, Lucy took her looks in equal parts from both parents, having hit the genetic jackpot with the warm South American of her father's heritage and the exotic Mediterranean influence from her mother.

"There wasn't a job she didn't finish. If you wanted someone, anyone, dead, then you went to Eva Reynolds, but there was no backing out. You had to be absolutely serious to contract her, but you knew you'd be getting what you paid for and nothing less," Rory explained. "She seriously was the absolute best known assassin before she suddenly quit in 1983. After the feud intensified in the early nineties and her daughter was nearly abducted, Eva came out of retirement with a vengeance. Despite being out for near on a decade, she was as flawless as ever and more than that, because it was personal, Eva pulled no punches."

"There's only one other assassin of her calibre out there," Carmen offered again. "A person known only as the 'Ghost' because of the fact that there is no sign whatsoever of them existing, nevermind any evidence of their actual handiwork."

Grinning and nodding, Rory agreed. "Yes, and that's why they originally thought Eva hadn't died. Most don't realise that Eva had a student, an apprentice she taught everything she knew about her craft to...and then some. No one knew until after she died and rumours started that maybe she wasn't dead. Throughout the course of 2000, the legend of the ghost of the RCS rose to monumental proportions until they realised that a lot of it, Lucy was behind; a lot of people still believe to this day that Lucy was the assassin -part of the reason behind the myth of Eva’s ghost- but she wasn’t. Her reputation was forged during that time, and despite her activities in recent years, the memory of the very angry young woman from then still lingers in many organizations. She ended the feud, took over everything, and through the course of the year assumed absolute command over the Crime Syndicate. That’s why people are so hesitant to cross Lucy after what she did to the Schaffers; as big as her parents were and those before them, she became immense after the Schaffers pissed her off something wicked and she eradicated them. She seriously /ended/ the Schaffers."

Rory saw the tiny nod Amy gave in response to her words, and she found herself oddly encouraged by her correct statements. "We actually think we might know who the assassin that Eva trained is, though," Rory said, immediately catching the attention of both Carmen and Victor. The young woman grinned, having not told Devlan of that particular detail. "But I'll get to that in a moment. In 2003, Diamond suddenly went underground for unknown reasons, though there are rumours of a falling out with a smuggler, Shay Steele; after which, both disappeared. Two years later in 2005, Diamond resurfaced for three weeks in LA. During which some of you might have heard of Amy being the only agent to have gone up against the woman and surviving. For a week, Amy was actually abducted by Diamond before being rescued by her former team mates, Brewer, Carmody, and..." Rory consulted her notes needlessly, making a face at having only a codename. "Diabolique."

Training, practice at keeping up the well-guarded lie, and personal desire to keep that episode quiet kept any telling reaction from the faces of both Max and Janet. Amy showed no response other then the chagrin expected at having been kidnapped in her younger years. She had no doubt that eventually the truth would come out, at least to the people in this room, but for the moment, it was easier to let the false story be told.

"After AB returned, and there was that strange return of all kinds of stolen property, Diamond suddenly disappeared completely from the radar of /everybody./ Four months later, she walked back on to the scene with this woman at her side." Rory pressed a command into the pad, another image replacing the one of Eva, this time one of a tall, sandy-haired woman of Japanese heritage with an arm around Lucy. Amy stared. "Meet Katja. Who exactly she is, I'm not quite sure. I've been gathering intel on this for a while, but it's taken a shitload of time and effort to put together," she admitted.

Near Amy, both Max and Janet tried to not be obvious as they checked their friend's reaction to the photograph, but the blonde showed little to none. The truth was, Amy wasn't sure how exactly she was supposed to respond. She knew she felt something, some reaction, but having spent the last two years condensing and locking away everything associated with the thief, the agent found herself falling into the old habit of compartmentalising her feelings and leaving it for an undetermined 'other time.' It was just easier that way; easier and safer.

Cueing another couple of images, Rory continued. "I know for a fact that she is a Russian assassin from what little I've been able to piece together, but when Diamond reappeared, she was with her and since then, you don't find one without the other. From the anecdotes over the years before Diamond's disappearance in '03, she was quite commonly seen in her company too. Katja, however, is very much a background player, remaining utterly out of sight up until very recently. Now, she is very publicly at Diamond's side; rumours, of course, provide all sorts of speculation on their relationship. Whatever it is, I believe that Katja was Eva's student."

"How so?" Rourke asked, a touch of surprise colouring the interest she wore.

"Her style for one thing. It's unmistakably her own, but there is something elegant there that reminds me so much of Eva's work; it's the only plausible explanation I can come up with, especially with the fact that she seems to know Reynolds’ daughter."

"Amy?" Victor drew attention to the blonde. "Any insight on that?"

She had to shake her head, responding with absolute honesty. "I've never heard of this Katja before. I also don't know too much about the professional side of Eva. I didn't..." she searched for the right wording. "-get a lot of information about the end of the feud," she admitted.

Victor nodded in acceptance and Rory took her cue to continue. "Anyway, nowadays, where you find one, you find the other. Also, there's Scud, Lucy's right-hand man who seems to be just as familiar with the assassin as Diamond does." The tech brought up another image, this time one of the shorthaired blonde and the henchman in a candid moment as the pair grinned foolishly at one another. "Since reappearing a little over two years ago -about the same time she hooked back up with Katja- Diamond has taken back complete control of her people. In the scheme of things, they've been relatively quiet, not undertaking any campaigns against continents or blood feuds. There've been some insane heists, a couple of jobs believed to be Diamond's work and that sort of thing, but except for assuming control and placing herself firmly back in the minds of everyone, Lucy has been surprisingly mysterious since her resurfacing. It's as though she's there and we know she's there, but no one's really sure what she's been up to."

"So, in other words," Chase spoke up, a seat separating her from John and Rory. "You don't really know what Diamond has been up to," she said, her words merely a mild observation, bearing no negative connotation.

"Sorta," the young man beside the Marshal turned to look at the striking woman. "But, it's always that way with Lucy Diamond. Mystery is like a calling card for her. What we know more than anything is that for being a criminal? She's not all that evil, per se."

"But she never has been, and that's why we proposed approaching her," Victor broke in. "Thankfully though, Amy doesn't seem all that adverse to approaching her, so our objective has become a step easier in achieving."

"I never said I wasn't against it," the blonde in question spoke softly, lifting her pale eyes to meet Victor's. "In fact, I'm actually really quite adverse to the entire thing, but there's not a lot of choices and they are all infinitely less attractive than Lucy." She caught but ignored the smothered mixture of a choke and cough that came from her right. "I can't promise that she will even show up, let alone even listen to me."

"Why /would/ she show up?" Paul leant forward, interest clear on his boyish features. Amy supressed the sudden urge to smack him for asking so many questions, shoving away the pique at being asked about Lucy. Again. "Out of curiosity and all. I mean, if she kidnapped you and held you captive for a week, why would she agree to meet you?"

Making a slight face, she considered the best way to answer an inquiry that really should be cleared up. "It's complicated. Horribly so. The easiest way I can put it is that things are very rarely ever black and white. This is definitely one of the greyer areas." Amy sighed and looked down at the table for a long moment, coming to half a decision. "As it was, two and a half years ago, it..." The blonde blew out a long breath. "Lucy's not quite the villain that everyone makes her out to be. I found that out rather quickly and after a week, I only knew how much truer that was. She can be, but she isn't always."

The FBI agent gave her a long examining look. "You know, if I didn't know better and wasn't aware of the fact that it'd be impossible for you to still be a viable agent, I'd say it sounds like a case of Stockholm Syndrome."

Amy gave a bark of laughter. "Not quite. As I said though, the situation is excessively complicated and now's not the time to get into it. Maybe later." /'The thirtieth century or so should be good,'/ she thought wryly. 

"Amy's right; we need to get the rest of this briefing hammered out, a lot of which involves making sure everyone is up to speed. Plus, you guys get to ask questions," Victor told them.

Several discussions, hours, and questions later found Amy irritated to the point of anger and Victor stubbornly defiant. Having returned to the subject of the upcoming mission to Spain and telling the blonde agent that she'd have discretion on team appointment, she'd strongly protested. Long since used to solo ops or with the singular support of her partner, Amy was not impressed or receptive to a full team of agents. The fact of whom she was travelling to meet only served to strengthen her resolve further. "Damnit, no. It was set up as a solo meet for a reason."

"I don't care, and protest all you like, but there is no way in hell /you/ are going anywhere without back up," Victor shot back with equal vehemency.

"I'll have back up, just no one in there with me physically."

"*Exactly!* You said earlier how many people could be in there. Ten to thirty *thousand!* You think we could respond if we have to get around that sort of crowd?!" the man tried to reason, letting his instinct to worry colour his usual calm demeanour. If there was ever anyone able to wash away his unbreakable composure, then it was the infuriating and stubborn young woman standing at the opposite end of the table.

"I doubt it'd barely even be needed." Some insane sense of pride and desire to prove herself again made the words come. Logically, Amy was quite aware of how understandable Victor's request for a team in the actual club was, but something wouldn't let her simply accept it. "If she wanted to abduct me, she would have already," she added in a retort.

"Yeah, it's not like she hasn't in the past."

At the mutter, Amy and Victor both snapped their attention from the yelled argument to the suspiciously innocent looking Janet. Max refused to look at any of them, silently edging her stationary chair towards the other agents, bolts securing it to the floor not withstanding. Amy glared at Janet, hating the truth in the statement or rather its presence that made denying the charge impossible. "What?!" the other blonde exclaimed, not heeding the instincts that screamed for her silence. "It's not like she didn't...twice even!"

"Yeah, and the second time, I let her!" The moment the words were out, she wished she could take them back. "Shit." Her eyes fell closed as her shoulders dropped. The curse she thought remained internal, though. She'd managed to censor that exclamation in the way she wished she could've stopped the other. Max and Janet may have had a their suspicions as to her willing participation, but it was a completely different matter to have it so unequivocally confirmed, especially in front of witnesses. Pushing away the waspish irritation and regrasping her tenuous control, Amy exhaled and opened her eyes, composure firmly back in place.

"Look," her voice once again cool. "The point is, all of that was over two years ago and while I know not telling you guys about me still being a spy has killed your trust in me -again- I don't plan on running off with her. If I was going to do that, don't you think I would've instead of joining NWI?"

Amy kept her attention solely on Janet and Max, not wanting to face or deal with any other reaction to her statements at that moment. In truth, she'd been waiting for the first in what she expected was going to be a long line of issues from her friends. What made it worse though was that she understood where they came from and couldn't be completely indignant over it. The simple and unavoidable truth was, for two and a half years she *had* lied and one quiet dinner wasn't going to get rid of the feeling of having been betrayed. Regardless of that though, she'd be damned before she let anyone question her ability to perform or her dedication to her job. Not after what she'd endured in the name of countless, nameless millions too many times already.

"And if you were going to leave, you'd've done it two years ago," Rory offered, looking up at Amy. "Hell, I half-expected you to and no one would've blamed you for it."

"What happened two years ago?" Max asked, speaking up for the first time as she sensed something behind the comment. Something like an answer to one of the thousand questions fighting to be heard in her head since learning Amy was still in the field. In two years, she'd had experienced some serious hell. What horrors had Amy had visited upon her that she hadn't been able to speak to them about? How many absences had really been for aid trips and not missions with the potential to go wrong, or -even worse- could've been because she had to recover until she was once again able hide that hell? It wasn't so much the feeling of betrayal that made Max pull away; it was more not knowing or being aware enough to know the times Amy should have been clearing her conscience of the burdens that had to be borne with the job. It was shame and guilt too, that crippled Max Brewer, not betrayal alone.

"Nothing," Amy answered before Rory could. "Just a mission that went a little south."

"/'A little south'?!/" John spluttered, ignoring the look he was shot by the blonde. "What she calls 'a little south' was her damn-near dying," he informed Max and the others, ignoring Amy's motions to shut up. "And I don't mean almost like having a gun to your head. I mean it like we didn't think she was going to survive. That I didn't think I could get her /breathing/ again," he spat the words out, a clear nightmare of memory in his words.

"John!" Amy barked out, glaring at the young man, it quite clear in her bearing she didn't want any more said of that day. John merely folded his arms across his chest, slumped in his seat, and returned the glare defiantly. "It doesn't matter," she firmly growled, fighting to keep a lid on her own fragmented recollection of that time. Some things were best left dead and buried in the past. "Now does." The change and closing of subject was clear, but both Max and Janet -shaken by the tech's announcement and words- made a note to pin someone down later and ask what the hell the exchange had been about.

"My wanting you to have a team with you in Spain and at Privilege isn't about who you are meeting, Amy," Victor spoke up, a casual thoughtfulness to his tone. "You know it's never been a matter of trust where you're concerned." He stood and circled around the table to stand before her. "The fact that this op was my idea in the first place alone should tell you there's not an issue." Victor crossed his arms over his chest, projecting a relaxed air. "The issue," he gave her a reassuring smile and leaned back against the table edge, somewhat consciously placing himself between his agent and the others. "Is the fact that three weeks ago, you were captured, and you've only spent two recovering from wounds that should see a good month or two of /no/ duty, let alone full field activity. This isn't about trust, Amy," he repeated, pressing home the fact he honestly meant. "It's about making sure you come out of this in one piece."

Amy was quiet for several moments, digesting the offered information. The truth she'd admit was, not having to constantly watch her back in Europe would be a good thing. Beyond that, Victor had a point; she'd only had a fortnight to heal and no matter how brilliant of an agent she was, it was outright stupidity to walk into a potentially hostile environment alone. Especially when she took into account the fact that just standing in the briefing room, she was fighting off vertigo, brought on by the anger induced rise in her blood pressure. The risk wouldn't be from Lucy unless she'd manage to completely misjudge the thief, but there was no telling who else might lurk on that island and clubs. "You're right, Victor," she admitted, shaking her head softly, pushing aside the dizzy sensation. "I'm sorry I'm being such an idiot. I just don't want anyone to think I'm going to jump ship because we have a history."

Reaching out to touch her shoulder, Victor's voice was soft and soothing. "No one who really knows you would believe that of you, Amy. And anyway, you're allowed to be a little stubborn about doing your job considering my reason for insisting you take a team stems a hell of a lot more from a gut reaction after Venice than competency," he admitted. "I lost an agent and friend to that debacle and damn near lost you too, Amy. You're going to have to put up with me being a little over-protective for a while."

"Oh god, I hadn't even thought about that," Amy exhaled, finding a laugh in her. "I remember how you were after North Korea," she informed him, narrowing her eyes a little. "You are not doing that again." The stern warning accompanied by a shake of an index finger though meant, carried a lighter edge to it, signalling a return to Amy's familiar warmth. Suddenly drained, the young woman sought out her seat and retook it, pausing for a long moment to close her eyes and right her equilibrium; a task she'd yet to master since before Italy.

As he placed two fingers under her chin, Victor lifted Amy's head so that when she opened her eyes, he saw the edge of fatigue and strain in them. "That's what I'm talking about," he pointed out softly. "I want to know you have people we both trust watching your back at all times. I'm already nervous as hell sending you back into the field this fast when you clearly shouldn't even be out of a hospital bed." He paused and thought for a long moment. "Take Cameron with you," he suggested in a tone that said it was more of an order than a question.

Amy smiled softly pulling back and resting her head against the chair. "I was already planning to," she admitted, a tinge of amusement in her voice. "Of my options, I think I trust Cam to watch my back more than anyone else."

"Good," Victor said with a nod. "Give me the rest of your team later and I'll make sure you get them. Don't worry about active ops; this mission takes precedence over everything else."

The young woman nodded, her mind already switching to an active planning mode, taking refuge in its comforting familiarity. "Actually, if it's not too much trouble, I think I know who I want," she offered.

"Oh?" Leaning back, Devlan managed to keep only some of the amusement from his face as he raised an eyebrow at his agent's quicksilver change of mind.

Nodding, Amy did her best to ignore his smile, knowing the tease for what it was. "Cameron, John, Reed, Cody, Mikal, and Zoë," she replied succinctly.

Victor's lips twitched. "Why do you always have to pick the strangest of combinations?" he wondered aloud, straightening and turning as he walked away. "They're yours," Devlan answered her. "Reed and Mikal I'll have to pull, but they should be ready to go by tomorrow. Cody's always around waiting, so he'll be happy to see you again, and you know John and Cam are always ready."

"And Zo?"

"Driving me up a bloody wall for something to do. I think she'll be happy to be working with her brother again," he said with a chuckle. "They are great by themselves, but a damn sight better together. Plus, they don't whine as much then. Well," Victor added as an after thought. "Zoë doesn't whine as much. Mikal just glares."

John snickered, following Amy's return to a better disposition as both Rory and Amy laughed, understanding their superior's meaning. "Good point, the blonde said, pushing her chair back as she stood in a smooth, carefully controlled motion. "If you don't need me here, I think I'll go hunt down Cody, Cam, and Zoë, and put in my reqs."

Waving her away, Victor also dismissed John with a glance. "Go on. We all know the hardest part of this job is the paperwork. John, you do the same. Amy, when do you want to leave for Spain?" he looked up at the blonde.

She paused and thought for a moment. "She'll've read the message fairly early this morning and depending where in the world she is, she should -theoretically- be on her way and in Spain as soon as possible, if not already there. I requested an ASAP meet, and assuming that she's coming, I think the night after tomorrow is the best meet up guarantee. Commercially and with layover stops from the antipodal point of Ibiza, it can take two days. With our jet, no delays, and a direct flight, I estimate about twelve hours. If we leave here at around noon, we should get into Ibiza at midnight LA time, eight am local. That would give us another sixteen hours to adjust, set up, and get ready for the meet around midnight."

Victor nodded. "All right. I'll make sure you're on the plane by eleven thirty tomorrow and your gear's stowed before you get there."

The blonde nodded; pleased with the rein she was given. "I won't be in first thing," she advised him, readying to walk out the door. "I have a few things I want to take care of before hand but I should be in by about ten. I'll, uh, talk to the rest of you guys then," Amy told her new colleagues. She gave a slight smile. "I'm sorry that you all don't seem to be getting the best impression of us just yet; things are normally not anywhere this hectic. Honestly, I am really looking forward to getting the chance to know you, and with luck, I won't be flying out of the country at the drop of a hat too often," she added, coloring her words with the sweet charm she was commonly known for. With another soft smile and slight duck of her head, the young woman slipped out of the room, John in tow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 A as originally appeared on All Things DEBS, posted on the 26th of June, 2006

*CHAPTER FIVE A*

 

Travelling in by train again, following the directions Amy provided, Max Brewer glanced over at one of her best friends. Something turned over in her head again, repeating words from the previous day. All night, they'd resurfaced intermittently to drive her up the wall with curiosity and aggravating need to know what the hell they meant. Max could leave a lot of things alone with the 'need to know basis' but this definitely fell into the realm of 'needing to know.' "There was a first time?"

"Huh?" Janet jerked her head up from the half-asleep stupor she'd fallen into on the up-to-that-point silent ride.

"Back in the briefing room, you said Amy had been kidnapped by Diamond twice, and Amy said the second time she let it happen," Max clarified. "I only know about one time, the when she was willing one. There something you want to tell me?"

Her eyes widened just that little bit that gave her away immediately. Cursing silently, Janet searched for some response. /'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!'/ "It's in the past, Max. Just let it go," was what she settled on, not believing for a moment that it would deter the DEB.

Something in her bristled at the thought that things were *still* being kept from her, and not just from Amy as it had seemed. "What are you two hiding?"

"Look, it was years ago," the Secret Service agent evaded again.

"Damn it, what the hell is going on? When did lies suddenly become a major facet of our friendship?" Max demanded angrily.

"Hey, don't forget I got lied to too!" Janet shot back, her own temper flaring in an instant. "I got the same 'I'm out of the game' story too, so don't you dare pull that 'everyone's lying to me, I can't trust anyone' bullshit on me, Max Brewer, or I swear to god, I will kick your ass nine ways to next Sunday."

It took her aback so suddenly that all Max could do for several seconds was stare at her friend as Janet crossed her arms over her chest with an angry huff and glared at the opposite side of the train. Then, she began to laugh. "I'd forgotten just how damn feisty you got," she admitted. "I'm sorry."

Shaking off the awe, Janet still found it a very surreal thing, hearing Max apologise so easily to her for a simple and understandable explosion of frustration. Then again, the last two and a half years had changed them both, and despite having that much time to grow accustomed to it, they could still take her off-guard. Just as her own growth could do the same with Max. "No, don't worry about it. Needless to say, we both should back off a bit on that, I guess. Or at least go to the person in particular instead of each other," she offered wisely.

"Yeah, except she's flying halfway across the world this morning."

"I know. God, is it smart for her to be out in the field so soon?" Janet fell back into the old habit of always seeking counsel from Max. Despite the fact that the dark woman could be fiercely intimidating, and especially in her DEB days, that had been one thing she could always depend upon Max for. If she ever needed any sort of help with their work, Max was always willing to give her the time for an explanation. Provided, of course, that it was not in the middle of a firefight or mid-pursuit.

"I honestly don't know with her," came the honest reply. "As far as I know, she shouldn't be anywhere near the field. With everything they told us about that mission in Venice, she should still be hospitalised. Hell, she has got to at least be experiencing PTSD."

Janet nodded. "I was thinking that, but then, yesterday, she seemed really fine."

"But remember, Amy's always been good at hiding the things she really doesn't want you to see. Do you remember back in our third year, when she got so damn sick? None of us knew until she collapsed half-dead."

"Yeah, I do. Could've killed her for it too," the honey blonde grumbled darkly. "So you think she's not doing as good as she seems to be?"

Max made a face, hating to have to make the judgement. "I don't know to be completely honest. Obviously, she's become unbelievably good at hiding that sort of thing in the last couple of years. Even better than before." Another moment passed before she added, "And the other thing is, this mission is so damned important that I don't think she'd tell anyone just how bad off she is. That she'd suck it all up for the sake of the mission."

"You mean like you do." Janet pointed out with laser-point accuracy.

She didn't have any response to the charge and instead chose to remain silent. Damn Janet.

~~~

"Oi! AB!" From the outer edge of her workshop, Rory called out to the blonde agent across the open area. The woman in question turned and detoured towards her. As she did and the geek took a moment to take a look at pre-mission Amy, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Uh...dude..." She drew out slowly at first before her mind kicked in and she opted for humour instead of calling the blonde on her suspicion. "There's definitely somethin' different about you...hang on...got yer ears pierced, didn't ya?"

Amused at the tech's outright silliness, Amy smiled nevertheless and shook her head at Rory's antics. "I've had them done since I was five, Rory."

"Ah." She looked dejected for a moment before looking back up again, a bright expression on her face. "Something else pierced then?" Rory asked with a wicked grin and a wink. This time, the blonde merely rolled her now perpetually guarded eyes. "Seriously though, dude. The hair is awesome. Per-man-ent?" she asked, drawing the syllables out to be separate words.

Amy ducked her head in a nod, knocking the freshly cut blonde hair into her eyes. "Uh, yeah. For a while anyway." She reached up and tucked the errant locks behind an ear. "I've really let it get too long lately with the last few months and all." Rory nodded, in full understanding. "I wanted to get it taken care of before the mission, so I had it done this morning and when I was asked if I wanted the usual...I just decided on something different," the agent explained.

"Understandable," the geek replied. "And you know, it is much more manageable that way. I should know," she flashed a cheeky grin.

It wasn't a drastic change, but in a realm where the most unobvious was also the most symbolic, the younger woman found her friend's change on the eve of such a huge mission...interesting. When she'd last seen the blonde after months of busy neglect, Amy's hair had reached the near middle of her back. It was one of the many silent testaments around all of NWI of just how 'break-neck' a sort of pace they'd been operating at since early in the year. Now, the agent's collar-length hair fell shy of brushing her shoulders.

"You wanted me?" Amy's voice caught Rory's attention.

"Only desperately and breathlessly every waking moment of each day," she responded with a leer and not missing even the briefest of beats. "But yeah," she transitioned smoothly. "Got a few gifts for your festive-ass to delight in and sing my eternal praises over." It was with seeming negligence but true care that she reached out, caught the agent's arm and tugged her deeper into her sanctum very few saw.

"Gifts?" Amy brightened tenfold. "Toys?" Her eyes took the quick flare of anticipation as she let Rory lead her. She managed to only barely flinch at the hand on her arm. Like so many others, the 'Q-briefings' were the best and most anticipated of all mission set-ups. It was a very simple system; agents played guinea pigs to Rory's outlandish experiments and the geek made them whatever inconceivable tool for the job they might ever need.

Rory snickered. Initial meetings and the first few months not withstanding, one of the things NightWatch had over many agencies was the lack of inter-department posturing. Geeks were geeks and field agents field agents, but every single one of them was a blooded operative tested through the fires of hell and battle. In simple terms, that meant Rory was given the same respect as Amy, Victor, or Jacob might receive, despite the vast difference in roles they played in the outfit. It undoubtedly helped that she was 'freakishly brilliant,' but one of the first things an agent learned on their orientation was that NWI's strength and effectiveness stemmed from both its maverick nature, but also diversification. You tended to learn very fast that if you didn't show the right amount of common courtesy to anyone, you'd find yourself on the quick, nasty end of an inspired prank.

"I've tucked a few specky new things into the Ten that my monkey will explain to you and all, but I've got a couple just for you." She flashed a grin at the blonde. "I got thinking on the Master again and you know me: always trying to improve on a good thing." The tech released Amy's arm and picked up the latest and greatest in lock-picking tools. "This is the Master, generation 2, complete with personal genetic bonding and panic sensor."

"Sensor?"

The geek grinned. "Was gonna go all old school with a button cause everyone loves buttons and the pressingness of them, but then I thought /specky./ So, the same thing that reads the genetic code of the user runs the vitals against a pre-programmed set of guidelines. Use this puppy when you are under duress and it sends up red flags all over the place. Basically, if you're forced to use it, we'll know."

"What exactly does it check for in looking for duress?" the blonde asked, curious.

"Well, I created an exhaustive database with constantly updated bio-data for every conceivable spike in the user's vital signs. Only certain responses are set to be flagged, so don't worry. If yer in a hurry and all hot and bothered, don't stress that this thing will send a contingent of agents busting down the door to rescue your naked, not-so-happy ass." Rory flashed a wicked grin.

"That's a good thing to know...I think," Amy offered mildly.

The grin was flashed again. "I tell you, gathering the data for it was good fun. The bulk of it I took from the different recordings we have for you from the field monitoring you agreed to, and nearly all the rest, I scared the living shit outta Jonny for."

"And you would've too," she said taking the key and examining it for a moment. "How's it get the blueprint to bond?"

"Well, at the moment, it has to be done in-house," Rory retook the key and placed it into a slot. "C'mere. Now, I know for a fact that this method is effective, so I'm encoding you this way. I have a prototype field kit you can muck about with, but it's completely unfield-tested," she explained, tugging Amy's hand over until she could place the blonde's hand in the gel reader set up on one of the many benches. "Should take a few seconds."

"How come you can't just load my data that's on file?" Amy asked logically.

"Simple, what's to stop someone from hacking it, loading in their own blueprint, and using it?" The geek shrugged. "I've laid every protection on this sucker that I can, but my ego is not big enough to risk my agents' lives on," Rory responded with frank honesty. "I might be a fucking genius, but every single code out there can be broken. Every system will Titanic eventually -even my stuff. So, I'll make it as hard to do as possible for the bastards to nail me. Of course..." Rory motioned to the blonde that she could remove her hand. "The kit I'm giving you means it's less secure a system because the tech is out there, but that's remedied by making field bonding temporary only." Pulling the key from its case, Rory held it up, a proud little smile showing. "This is now yours and while it's unusable by anyone else now, I prefer if you not lose it."

Amy nodded. "I know. Destroy it if I have to, but make sure no one gets it."

"Good girl." Rory nodded. She paused and looked up at the taller woman. "I know you tend to keep a strict 'no rehashing' policy after missions go to shit and all, but I'm sorry." For one of the rare times she was able to, Rory stilled, sincerity in her eyes. "It's protocol and I was the one that implemented it, but...I'm still sorry for the pain it caused."

Her expression softening, Amy shook her head. "I know, Ror. Everything about that mess sucked. Besides, the charges took out two of them and blast knocked a few more on their asses with burns to the face."

As a precaution, everything Rory's labs produced came with a remote detonation charge. It was enough to destroy the equipment, erasing anything usable, and was one of the many safeguards put in place. Only two sources could trigger them: the agent's equipped with remotes, or upon word of an agent being separated from their gear, the responsibility fell to Rory. The hardest part about keying the detonation sequence was not knowing if the agent in question was anywhere near their own rigged equipment. Collateral damage or not withstanding, it was an effective and successful measure; nothing had fallen into the wrong hands as of yet.

"It still sucks that I ended up contributing to your _War and Peace_ medical file."

"I'm only up to _War and Peace_? Damn, I thought I would've passed it by now." Amy quirked a grin at the geek. "Or at least the two-for-one combo of _Madam President_ and _First Lady_."

Snickering, Rory shook her head. "Maybe," was all she said on the subject. "Anyways, here is your new mobile unit: sat-cell, computer, field kit, all the usual goodies. I've also equipped a transmitter unit since your last one was torn out of your back." She didn't mention what by; both knowing the damn blast that had made finding Amy nearly impossible had been a case of 'friendly fire.' "So, you lose this bastard and, well, we have even more trouble finding you this time 'round."

Amy took the slim-line unit, turning it over in her hand, still amazed at the amount of technology held in the 3.5 by 6 inch plastic casing. No bigger than a standard laptop hard drive, the mobile unit was more often than not an agent's lifeline. "Don't worry. I've no intentions of doing that. How badly is Victor going off his nut over me not having a Big Bro unit in me?" The question half innocent, half probing was deceptively casual.

"Eh, not as much as you think. It's more of the same twitchiness over having an unchipped agent operating in such unpredictable waters," Rory replied. "Dev's not so much a control-freak as he just likes to know what's going on where, and danger involved. He's twitchy because of the sheer amount of what we don't know; recent experiences and your past aside."

"True," she conceded with a murmur. "It is something of a logistics nightmare."

Shrugging, Rory flashed a grin. "Yeah, but it's this kind of thing that keeps me and killer coding ninja monkey-boy sharp." Reaching behind her, to rummage through a pile of print outs before emerging with what looked like a contact lens case. Rory twirled the case open to reveal - 

Contacts.

"Rory, I don't know if you've been informed, but my eyes are fine." Amy smirked at the gadget geek, her arms crossing over her chest. Carefully removing a single contact from it's enzymatic bath, Rory snorted.

"We can rebuild her. Make her stronger, faster, better than she was."

Amy laughed, watching Rory carefully as she checked the contact before slipping it into her eye. Turning to her monitor, she tapped out a sequence onto her keyboard. Within seconds, a new window popped up and Rory spun back around to look at Amy. 

"So, did you ever wish you could send me pictures when you didn't have a camera?"

Amy blinked, her eyes glancing over Rory's shoulder to the computer monitor. Her own image greeted her, a finger appeared in the corner, near her ankle. She turned her gaze back to Rory in time to see the grinning geek lowering her hand.

"You little shit." Amy's widening grin clearly betrayed her growing excitement. "You made a next gen video feed."

Rory gently pried the contact from her eye, rinsing it and replacing it in the enzymatic bath, grinning all the while. "It took a bit of tweaking, what with the need for massive flexibility. It's like wearing glass...you won't see a difference unless there's a massive light show." 

A thought struck Rory and she spun in her chair, her palm slapping down on a pile of papers, muttering under her breath. Amy barely caught a word here and there, one eyebrow raised as she waited for the spazzing to end. When Rory was struck with an idea, such as now, it was best to stay out of her way or risk losing a limb to her flailing. 

"A-HA!" Rory pulled a small box out from behind a printer. "Found you, you little..." She fell back into her seat, the box held firmly in her hands. She looked up at Amy with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I almost forgot about these." She flipped open the box to reveal small flat circles of what appeared to be plastic. 

Amy watched, quietly smiling as Rory lifted a disc from within the box. The ubergeek flipped it over between her fingers and grinned at Amy. 

"Well?"

"Each one's worth a quarter pound of C4."

"You're kidding me." Amy shook her head. "What am I saying? Of course you're not kidding. Talk to me." A disc was offered to Amy. The blonde ran her thumb over the flat face of the microexplosive, feeling four equidistant holes drilled into the disc. "They're buttons."

Rory grinned widely. "Brilliant, hey? No one notices a stray button on the floor. Solid state, no external trigger. Tap it with the Master and it's set to go in thirty seconds. Remote detonate with the comm, protocol Kalashnikov, and you've got five minutes. Next gen will have more options."

The agent stared at the flat button in her palm. "This might just be one of your most brilliant implementations." Amy flipped the button up in the air. "You've definitely earned a steak."

Rory shook her head. "The last thing I wanted to give you was this," she held a case out to Amy.

Her expression wryly guarded, Amy took it carefully and set it down on a clear bench. She popped open the latches and lifted the lid. Inside, the contents instantly identified the nondescript, black case as a munitions holder. One half held loaded clips for the standard semi and automatic pistols Amy tended to prefer; inspection quickly revealed a small range of different calibre. The second held another case about the same dimensions as her mobile unit, though twice as thick and much heavier. Upon opening it, she was interested to find a modified .32 round; its tip -like the smaller semi-automatic cartridges- bore a bright blue coating. Instinct told the agent they were not ordinary armour-piercing bullets.

"Remember how we were talking about one day how damn inaccurate grenades are and that there's always the risk of some smart ass chucking it back at you? Well, I started out with a sniper round because I figured until I had precision in the bullet explosion, the further away, the better," the tech explained carefully. She reached out and pulled rounds from the two rows of five; beneath laid another bullet each. Those she also extracted and setting down one of the first she held, Rory showed Amy the three side-by-side. "The three different colours denote different round strength. Blue -which is the same as the semi and automatics- is a standard. White is intermediate, and these black puppies? Well, you'll want a distance between you and your target."

"What kind of charge are we talking about here?" Amy asked, picking up and examining the discarded blue-tip.

"One of those or your semi? It can easily knock out enough of a brick wall for you to escape through," she began resettling the rows in the case. "They get exponentially stronger, but what exactly you can and can't do has yet to be determined via field testing. I.E. You."

"Nice," Amy murmured appreciatively, meaning the comment on bullet strength. "What kind of sensitivity?"

"Gotta be fired to be armed first, so no matter how hard you fall, they won't go off in your clip. That was a mild bastard figuring out, let me tell you. But once impact is detected; badda-big-boom."

Amy flashed a grin. "Very nice. So, it's impact that makes them explode?"

"Yeah," the geek nodded. "Actually, funny thing. You nail someone with one of these and they have a vest? They actually have less of a chance than if they were naked. One of the really annoying quirks about the goddamned things is I had to reduce the sensitivity so they wouldn't accidentally go off, right? Well, if you are damn lucky and the bullet doesn't hit any bone or vest or whatever, you've got a chance of surviving. Course, the moment it hits something and if you are too close, yer fucked, but you could theoretically survive the initial round."

Shaking her head, Amy found herself laughing. "Only you could design a bullet that you've got a better chance of surviving if you aren't wearing."

Rory shrugged and grinned. "What can I say, I'm talented." The geek replaced each round and closed the case, pressing her thumb against the left latch for the mini-reader to register the pattern and lock. She then picked it up and handed it to the agent. "Only you and Cam on the team will have these as they are still highly experimental, but more than that, Cam helped with the testing so she knows how to handle them and you are a freakishly quick study. Once we begin using them more and get any bugs knocked out, agents will be required to train in their usage before gaining authorisation."

The blonde nodded. "That makes sense. Not something you'd really want in uncontrolled circulation or inexperienced using."

"'xactly. Last thing we need is some cock-up like with the armour piercers or some noob taking out the wrong people or 'imself. To get these puppies, you first gotta get authorisation through Vic, Cam, and me, then op authorisation, Victor's approval, and get them off of me or Jonny. Plus, there's a limited stock-pile and manufacturing is all in-house, so I'll know in a snap if something is suspect," Rory finished with a half shrug. "Don't know if it's warranted, but you know how it goes with NightWatch."

"Better a paranoid sociopath than a gutted idealist," Amy finished the unofficial motto someone had started long before and had stuck.

"Damn straight." The blue-haired young woman stepped around a grouping of benches and waved Amy over. "One final thing. I did some tinkering," the geek said, pulling open a generic black duffle. "Since you lost your last field kit, I took the liberty of decking you out again and made a couple of updates I've been meaning to do for a bit." Holding the flap back, she let Amy have a look inside and slip the munitions case into place. "Every thing's inside that you should need and it's all your preferred gear. Oh, and I also uploaded all of your personal data and schematics so you should be right from the word 'go.'"

Smiling reflexively, Amy ducked her head for a moment. "Thanks Rory," the agent spoke with soft sincerity. There were a number of operatives quite content to simply grab a standard pack pre-made up or even put a requisitions form in and let another pack for them. Amy, on the other hand, was one of a handful who was near psychotic about preparing her own gear and checking it before each mission. As it was, Amy trusted a very scarce few to perform the task, that list starting and ending with Rory, and even then, she did a last minute check before heading into unfamiliar terrain.

"Not a drama, AB," Rory assured the blonde, following her as she slung the strap over her shoulder and lead the way out of the workshop. "You're around about ready to go, hey?"

Amy nodded, "Should be," she confirmed, heading towards a lift. "I'm just heading up to get a last minute brief with Victor, pick up my team, and then I should be heading out."

Following the agent onto the elevator, Rory nodded. "Awesome." A few minutes passed as the automated car took them to the requested location. "Hey, Amy," the younger woman was obvious in the care she took in broaching the subject. "I just wanted to say your hair really does look good."

The gesture of tucking an unfamiliarly short lock behind her right ear spoke volumes of the lingering gentle shyness that was so deeply a part of Amy's character. "You think so? It's not too drastic?" The evidence of doubt was clear in the question.

"Nah, I don't think so." Looping an arm around Amy's waist, the shorter woman pulled her friend against her, giving the blonde a reassuring smile as she bumped her hip against Amy's. "I damn well know so and don't you even think about worrying because no one's going to say otherwise."

Amy gave a snort of clear disbelief.

"Oi! Are you callin' me a liar?" she demanded in a highly indignant tone. "As a matter of your interest, I'm right, thank you. Seriously though, people'll be surprised and all speechless-like, but it does look very good."

Warmed by the reassurance and kind admonishment, Amy smiled and let the faint dusting of pink cross her cheeks. That was how she stepped out of the lift and into the conference room housing her new colleagues, Victor, and Cam. It was an entrance that had it not been an absurd and unrealistic notion appeared almost elegantly choreographed. Her head with just the slightest of ducks, a genuine half-smile and blush on her face as she tucked the hair on her left side back... The impact was almost physical as the room stilled.

Then, just as it had paused to blink in surprise, time slid back home and animation began again. Some how, after weathering so many shocks and upsets in the last few days that left her reeling, the latest Janet managed to take in comfortable stride. "Oh, wow! Amy, your hair looks amazing," she declared, slipping into best friend-mode smoothly. They hadn't had the chance to really speak about her words the day before, but some times, you swallowed your honest thoughts in favour of the present, Janet found.

"Definitely," Max agreed, feeling as equally as surprised as Janet, but also adapting quickly to a situation that seemed flat out determined to catch her out. "Much shorter but very 'wow.'"

Standing back and apart, Victor observed as Amy's friends, new and old, fussed over her. His first instinct was a question, but one he immediately discarded in favour of faith in his agent and not wanting to believe it of Amy. He didn't think it a coincidence -no surviving agent believed such things truly existed- but instead chalked it up to a few possible reasons, choosing to not examine them. To that way only madness and doubt of Amy lay, and with her poised to embark on probably the most crucial mission ever covered by NWI and most definitely of Amy's life, Victor couldn't afford himself that luxury. After the op, he could ask the reasons.

A few minutes later, he stepped up to his best agent, a warm smile in place on his lips as he looked down at her. "All ready?" Devlan asked, a multitude contained in the deceptively simple question.

She seemed to actually give the inquiry some thought before giving the briefest of shrugs. "To be honest? I haven't any idea," Amy admitted, knowing she could risk the truth with Victor -that he would understand what lurked beneath the lack of concrete answer.

"Considering what you've been asked to do, I'm glad to hear that. If you gave me a definite affirmative, I'd be pulling you," he replied with a candidness that on anyone else would've been viewed as brutal or at least blunt. "But, in something like this, a little hesitation is what I would expect."

Amy flashed a broad grin that had little to do with true humour. "I know," she responded, something in her eyes telling him what he knew all too well. As far as most agents went, many of them learned how to lie. An operative's life depended on it with a near daily basis. There was a difference however with Amy. She couldn't *just* lie. She presented the perfect psychological profile required for whatever setting with flawless skill and absolute composure. Others could lie, but she knew exactly what you wanted to see and used that to deceive you.

Victor shook the lingering fear off, taking the jest for what it was. "Your team's been completely approved and you're cleared for immediate departure. By your leave, Agent."

It was nearly all she could do to keep the shudder from working its way down her spine as the words echoed in her mind from a mission not long ago, her then-alive partner by her side that time. She had to get herself under control, damnit, or there was no way in hell she'd keep herself alive in Spain. Using the action to mask her momentary falter and clear her head, Amy glanced around at the room. Max and Janet watched her, quiet in their regard. God, that was one giant mess right there, waiting for her to begin trying to untangle it. Then, there was the new group of agents about to undergo their testing and be brought into the NWI fold. So many new faces and people she looked forward to working with. Lastly there were Rory and Cameron, both steady and familiar forces in this world of hers. True, Max and Janet were two she knew well, but in her mind, they didn't fit here. They weren't supposed to be a part of her job, but Rory and Cam settled that strange discomfort. Settled it and gifted to her a calm that let her turn back to Victor and smile up at him.

"I'll make sure to do you proud," she assured him, the words part of an old script they followed before missions. Cameron joined her, silent as always, as she crossed to the other door. Amy let the dark haired woman take the holdall from her and sling it over a shoulder as she addressed the room. "I really am sorry for always having to run out on you guys, but I think you all know how insane missions are." Amy offered up a soft smile, the corner of her mouth quirking up with mischief as she caught the sight of Max and a memory came unbidden to her mind, born on the wings of an impish sense of humour. "But if you'll excuse me, I have a date with the devil."

The words strangely felt right as soon as she'd spoken them, and as Cam preceded her out of the room, Amy flashed a full grin filled with what could only be described as devilish mirth. It was a grin, Rory noted with interest, that was /very/ Lucy Diamond like.

~~~

Broken out of her deep-thought reverie, Amy looked up and smiled at the lanky, shorthaired woman standing slightly bent over her. Eyes a warm cobalt green quietly regarded her as their owner held up a small case. "Thought you might want everything taken care of before we hit the ground," the combat expert and Amy's temporary partner offered sedately. The blonde in question nodded and pushed the work she hadn't been looking at away.

Cameron situated herself snugly between the table and Amy, barely enough room to move, but secure for the most part from turbulence. As she did so, the younger agent shifted back in her seat to give Cam as much room as she needed, slipping one leg between the standing woman's. It was interesting in a strange way, how she reacted to close contact anymore. If unexpected, or even when relaxed, a touch to her arm or impulsive hug provoked a quick flinch and bristling of her defences, especially in the time following Venice. On the other side of things though, there were times she possessed an unprecedented ease with close contact, even going so far as to push it to the realm of provocative. Amy didn't know quite why it was the case; only having a sneaking suspicion it lay with the division of 'Gryphon' and 'Amy' in her mind.

"It's funny," Cam said, hands opening the silver case and setting out various powders, lotions, colouring pigments, and tools. "As a kid, I hated make-up. Loathed the stuff because it might mean I really was a girl." She flashed a grin. "Which really sucks when your mother is extremely active with a number of the local theatre groups and their make-up man falls over with a sandbag to the head."

Grinning, Amy gave Cameron a look that held knowing. "Wrong target?" To her great amusement, the auburn haired woman blushed, rubbing at her cheek as she did.

"Yeah. Tommy Johnson was being a little shit to me at school all day and I figured I finally had my revenge until that twit got in the way. Mom figured to teach me a lesson and make me take over for the rest of the show doing Max's job." She twisted a few lids off, checking the colours and materials. "Weirdest part came when they realised I was actually quite good at it. Of course, that meant my summer was shot to hell then," Cam made a face at the memory, giving Amy's forehead a careful consideration.

"I can imagine," Amy smiled softly, lifting her head as Cameron touched her chin and tilted it upwards to give her a better look. Fingers slipped through her shortened hair as Cam combed her honey and corn silk coloured hair way from her face.

"I'm going to have to remove the strips, I think," she commented, indicating to the steri-strips helping to keep the cut over Amy's left eyebrow closed. With a damp cloth, she soaked the white tape-like cloth and removed them carefully. After a moment, she glanced around and frowned at the bad light she was afforded from her position. "Slide back," Cam directed, waiting until the younger agent complied with barely a thought, and carefully, the weapons master straddled Amy's lap, keeping most of her weight on either leg instead of on the blonde's. "Ah, better," she murmured, leaning a little closer, completely absorbed in her task.

For her part, Amy smiled faintly, very amused by Cameron's manoeuvring. Choosing to let her eyes fall shut, Amy was content to stay quiet as the brunette set to careful, gentle work laying down the first of many layers to conceal the injuries marring her features at the moment. The cool gel she felt brushed across her forehead was the super glue-like liquid sutures, created from the spray on skin developed for burn victims a few years prior. It would ensure that the seal on the wound would remain intact and also give the unique make-up a surface to bond to.

Blowing gently on the applied clear substance, Cameron returned the smile. It wasn't so much out of any amusement, but more a reflex to the sweet image the blonde presented. Ease relaxed smooth features, removing some of the tension and careful schooling to show only what Amy chose to; up-close though, Cameron was still privy to the strain recent times had taken on her friend and colleague. Her voice was low and soft as she smeared more of the sealing gel to both Amy's cheek and jaw where some bastard had pistol-whipped her during her time in Venice. "Are you nervous about this mission?"

Amy opened her eyes briefly, to stare up into Cameron's so close to her own. So close they shared the same breath. Too close for lies to carry believability. "I'd be stupid not to be," she replied honestly. "About the actual mission? No. It will be a walk in the park compared to most I've had, especially recently." She let her eyes close again.

"And the subject?" Cameron twisted at her torso, trading the jar of clear material for a different one. As one of the few who knew the true circumstances of Amy's abduction and experience with the famed diamond thief, she knew and had Amy's confidence on a number of things, Lucy included. At least, as much of a confidence as the blonde permitted herself anymore. This mission had to be playing havoc with her.

"Fucking petrified," she whispered.

Cameron let the conversation fall away with the admission, sensing Amy's discomfort and having her own preference for keeping quiet to encourage her. Exhaling softly, her breath blowing gently across her subject's face, Cameron continued to mix and tint, using the back of her right hand as a pallet. The problem with the work was that there existed no standard shade of skin she could simply use. Not only did every person possess a unique colour of their own, it constantly changed. The boy John had tried designing her a program and machine to scan and determine the exact pigmentation and then prepare it, but the seasoned agent with a much more hands-on approach mentality preferred spending the time getting it just right. Especially when so many times technology had failed in the face of human know-how.

Amy flinched slightly as Cameron's fingers touched her right cheek, the memory of receiving the bruise there taking hold before she could school her instinctive reaction. Unseen, Cameron's eyes darkened, the placement, severity, and Amy's flinch speaking volumes in identifying the cause of the injury. "You pissed him off, didn't you?" she asked in a murmur, shifting her weight to the left to view and access the mark better.

Almost nodding, the blonde replied, keeping her eyes closed. "A bit, yeah." After a moment, she added, "It was Alibrandi."

Cameron gave a low whistle, impressed. With everything she knew of the Italian, he had a legendary cool, never reacting in anger. If you pissed him off, you'd never know until you found your entire family slaughtered. "Don't know what you did, girl," Cam said. "But damn fine work. Did you mention it to the other profilers, to Jakob?"

"With everything going on, no," she responded. "I should though."

"Damn straight. The brain-pickers will wet themselves when they realise you made him snap."

Opening her eyes, Amy smirked at the brunette. "Did you forget technically I'm one of those 'brain-pickers'?"

The grin Cameron flashed in return was devilish. "No. You, my dear Gryphon, are a MindHunter," she corrected, tapping the blonde on the nose, leaving a smudge of flesh coloured cream on the tip.

~~~

Some time later, Devlan glanced through the one-way glass at his latest charges as the seven recruits read through the stack of files with varying enthusiasm, privately amused to see just how aptly each of their respective personalities displayed themselves. Carmen skimmed through the volumes of information, picking through and identifying the key components useful for a later date; Max and Josh both read through with dutiful diligence expected of a military background, while Chase and Paul were obviously bored with the reading from the exchange and muted discussion of the material. Janet and Sam occasionally threw in their own thoughts, but were a little more focused on their reading.

Finally taking pity on the lot of them -by that point, the room was a symphony of shifts and squirming- Victor glanced over at Rory who stood beside him, grinning up a storm. "Suppose we should finally go and relieve their boredom?" he asked his Head of Technology.

"Well, we have had them sequestered in there for the last five hours and I'd bet Pauly's really in need of the toilet," she reasoned wisely. "But, they are interesting little guinea pigs, aren't they?"

Placing a hand at the base of Rory's neck, Victor's behaviour was more like a father's than a superior. "They are fully seasoned field agents, Rory. I'm sure they know what we are doing. Playing mind games is a prerequisite. If we didn't play then they'd be insulted."

The young woman grinned. "Actually, we were really just making sure everything was all ready and in place. Which, it is, by the way. I saw to the last of things."

Victor nodded. "Good, then shall we go give them a proper welcome and set them to beginning the last stage of induction?"

"We shall." She returned the nod.

When the pair entered the room, seven sets of eyes met them. "I hope you were able to get through at least the bulk of the material you were given. It isn't filler work, but information that you all need to absorb and have in your mind at all times." And it was. Part history, half procedure manual, and more to the point summarised breakdown of NightWatch, the files were a wealth of information that when read, would hopefully bring the recruits up to a workable speed to aid their integration. Also contained within them were the beginning volumes of information important to the taskforce and Alibrandi.

"How long do you see this operation taking, Director?" Carmen asked, the aloof woman leaning forward to rest her forearms on the table.

Rewarding her question with a smile, Devlan held up a hand first. "Before we go any further. I know that pretty much every single one of you has had rank thumped into your heads. During your time here, I would prefer if you would forget it. It's either 'Devlan' or 'Victor.' Not 'Director,' 'Mr. Devlan,' or any of that business."

"He does like 'Master' and 'Sir' though," Rory quipped, dancing out of his reach with a grin. "But actually, there is a really good reason for it," she explained. "Half the time, Victor is out in the field. His name should be said naturally, without you stumbling over wanting to use a title or anything, so get the practice while you aren't under enemy scrutiny."

"Makes enough sense," agreed Chase from her seat. "Fifty percent field presence; is that as a supervisor or objective based?"

"I trust my people," the man replied. "They wouldn't be in the field if I didn't. I'm in the field if I have something to offer in either ensuring the objective is achieved or am a specialised asset." The deputy Marshal nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Now, if you'd like to leave your reading to another time-" He smiled at how quickly the electronic notepads were discarded. "I'll answer both Carmen's question and give you a tour of the premises."

He led them through a well-lit corridor, speaking as he did, confident they would hear his words. "Your question, Carmen, is actually a very good one to have asked because it will explain just why you are being subjected to the full induction process." Coming to a closed set of doors, he stopped and turned to them. "The truth is, for the last number of weeks you've all been subject to an intensive background check. Basically, what you'd expect from joining any government agency or Disney branch with a mildly over-zealous twist. The reason for this lurks in the fact that this is not a short assignment."

"How long do you think?" Paul asked, trading looks with a few of his fellows.

"Months, quite possibly moving well into years," Victor replied, letting them all show varying degrees of surprise. "To be honest, with a task of this size, you have to plan for the long term. This isn't a simple case of going in and arresting or killing Alibrandi or we would've done it long before Venice."

"You're talking about a full infiltration of his organisation, aren't you?" the dark deputy Marshal asked with insight he was rapidly coming to expect from her.

Victor nodded. "Yes. On every level, thus why we managed to procure all of you for this. Everyone else assigned to this taskforce has the broader, much more straightforward job to preform, but us? We have to sneak into the castle, find the keys, and unlock all the doors. And then we have to catch the bastard king himself." Reaching behind his back, Devlan pressed his hand to a reader. "You all will have the opportunity to say 'no' at any turn, but I think before you go and do that you might want to wait and see the perks working for us carries."

A hiss from the hydraulics caused a few to step back, and as the massive slabs of steel and concrete retracted, Victor moved to the side, letting them have an unobstructed view of the complex opening up before their eyes. Multi-level, open, and a bustling hub of activity, Devlan smiled proudly at his creation come to life.

"Holy fuck." Josh's eloquent phrasing easily echoed by all the others provoked a snicker from Rory.

Holding an arm out, Victor flashed a grin at his stunned audience. "Welcome to Valhalla."

~~~

Cutting through the clouds with beautiful efficiency, the Citation X-2 slid down in altitude steadily, preparing for its pending arrival on the island. While the aircraft's commercial twin could not make the same journey as they'd just completed without at least two stop-overs for fuel, the Ten's modifications in both mechanics and refined fuel granted a much more accommodating range. From the outward glance, the jet appeared all the same as its younger brother -aside from the matte-black finish. It was from there though, that all similarities halted, giving way to the brilliant innovations from Rory and other NWI scientists. Amy was still waiting to see this new no-fuel engine Rory was currently enamoured with designing.

Amy opting to remain with her team as they unloaded the jet, Cameron was left to confer with their European contact. Smiling warmly, she kissed each cheek of the gorgeous Spanish woman. "Isadora," the tall woman greeted the agent, addressing her by her name instead of the alias most used. "It seems the weather's been good to you."

"Ah, you know Spain, Cameron; the weather is always good. You simply have to know where to be." Dark eyes sparkled with potent fire, even as they flicked from the brunette to a blonde figure several metres away. "It is hard to believe Gryphon is the same woman from the reports considering just how good she looks." The brown gaze returned to Cameron's own green. "Unless, of course, I'm not mistaken and you've worked your magic again."

Smiling mysteriously, Cam chose to keep her words to herself, falling back on her habit of saying very little in most circumstances. "Everything's set up?"

"Affirmative," Isadora nodded sharply, falling back onto old military training. "Since I got your word yesterday, I've personally gone through with the team and secured it. We've left the club alone, as I know you would rather run the set-up yourselves."

Cameron nodded, accepting the report, finding everything to be in order. "Good." She turned to view her Spanish counter-part. "Thank you for responding so quickly."

"Anything for an old friend, you know that," the woman replied with a warm smile. "If you require anything more: do not hesitate to send word, Morrigan." Isadora reached out, giving Cam's hand a squeeze as she moved to walk away. "And if *you* need anything, you know how to find me, Cam."

Flashing a wolfish grin, the tall brunette nodded. "That I do."

A moderately short drive later, they arrived at the temporary lodgings arranged by the NWI Spanish cell. As soon as the equipment was unpacked and set up, and their rooms subject to a thorough searching, Amy ordered everyone to stand down and get some rest. "I don't care if you aren't tired. We leave at half-passed midnight and expect to run from there. I need you all fresh of both mind and body. Sleep. Get used to the change in time."

For her part, the agent giving those orders, she didn't plan on sleeping; it wasn't exactly something she could easily come by in recent months, much less in the last fortnight. Hell, the only way she'd lasted through an entire night was under heavy sedation, an option not available during an op. So, Amy had instead opted to curl up and watch the sun descend and the gorgeous waters of the Mediterranean glittering in the evening sun. Intentions of the mind, however, did not rule the body and before too long, she'd slipped into a restless sleep.

/Mildew, cold, and death flooded her nose, suffocating any other scents, the last dominating even those before it. The metallic taste of blood on her tongue so familiar now, it was hard to realise anymore when it was fresh or old. Everything else was mere detail, just another in a litany of catalogued reaction and subjection. Questions and nothing asked, a simple interrogation where information was a formality. They sought to break her long before they asked any true questions.

Every effort, every attempt failed though. Her screams not relinquished, barely a sign she was affected given. Observing this, Miguel pushed his dog harder, encouraging one agonising attempt after another. Long after a curious probing of the searing under her shoulder, and even beyond the fingers dug into flesh laid open, still she stayed quiet. Liquid fire slammed into her via intravenous avenue, clouding her thoughts and obliterating any coherency she might've had left, and still, stubbornly, she held her tongue. Even beyond the sensory deprivation and twin sedative-stimulant cocktails, surpassing even the grasp of madness, her silence remained.

Then, one day after Kris was dead in her arms and Alibrandi looking on with slowly increasing impatience, something made Amy lift her head. Lazily, she rolled her head and looked up with bored, dead eyes, "Go back to being a secretary, Miguel." Her voice was so low, so hoarse it was unrecognisable as her own. A fact that was to later become a blessing. Only god knew what possessed her to speak, let alone those words. They were the first and last she said to them, the others given only to her faithful partner.

Exploding across her senses, the backhand rocked her back, the force thrown against the chair she was strapped to enough to drop both the agent and chair to the ground. Her head taking the brunt of her impact and as black oblivion swam up to greet her, dimly she knew the sudden slash of warmth pooling against her face and the rock was her blood. Just as she knew the flare of heat and fire across her cheek was an agony of its own, but none of it mattered as dark arms and a roguish smile welcomed her home./

The gasp torn from her throat, Amy bolted up right, only to bite back on an anguished cry as her ribcage screamed in protest as the fractures pulled. Eyes squeezing tightly shut, she wrapped her right arm across her body, holding the damaged ribs that still made breathing painful. Sliding out of the chair and onto the floor, she knelt, doing all that she could to draw breath in. It was definitely one of those moments where Amy was left wondering just how in the hell she'd ever found herself there.

~~~

The group was still somewhat quiet in the wake of seeing the full complex of Valhalla; not completely silent, but still subdued enough to say that the effect had most definitely been made. A number of hours passed as Victor had played tour-guide, explaining a great many things of the base, and showing them more. As he watched a few of them -Crichton, Ryan, Jordan, and Carmody in particular- react with the childlike glee he was used to seeing in his head tech explore the tech centre, Victor glanced over at the rest of the group. Paul detached himself to follow the other four, while Max and the quiet CIA agent held back.

"So, what do you reckon?" he asked, directing his question more towards Max than anyone else, sensing she was ill at ease with the entire situation.

"It sure as hell is an impressive operation," the DEB replied neutrally.

Devlan smiled to himself. "I like to hope so." He considered doing the diplomatic dance of walking several circuits around the heart of the real topic, but something told him Max Brewer was someone to appreciate cutting straight to the point. "Before you think it, this-" He waved his hand around at the 'Bridge' they now stood in and at Valhalla in general. "Showing you it all is not a bribe or an effort to entice you to sign on with us."

"Then what is it?" Max tilted her head as she asked, figuring if they'd been told to address Devlan by name, then frank questions were allowed too.

Just as the man was opening his mouth to reply, a shout arrested his attention. "We are going live on an op in thirty seconds, people!" Rory called out as she all but stormed onto the Bridge. "You know the drill. Non-essential personnel clear out; those I've spoken to get your asses ready. Game time, boys and girls." As she turned to look at Victor standing tall despite her small stature, her amber eyes were alight with the same fire as so many of his agents possessed. This was what they lived for.

Rory looked down at the group scattered in the sunken area of the communications-tech centre. "You lot, take a seat at one of the tables. You've been given clearance to sit in on this mission, so park it." She glanced over her shoulder at Victor again, and as he nodded, she called out, "Drew...mark."

The man sitting at a station to her right replied, his voice loud enough to carry across the Bridge. "We have a go in five...four...three...two...and we are live."

Max watched as the entire area seemed to take an absolutely separate life of its own as two main, huge screens over the sunken stations flared to active status. Where before a map of bank transfers had idly bounced from continent to country, now multiple segments of the Spanish island flickered into existence. Another of the four displays activated, showing a vast network of simple line schematics that if Max was correct was the entire lay out of the damn island. One screen alone was a good three by two metres and held a confusing amount of information, segmented into smaller displays.

Stepping over to the DEB, Victor spoke and pointed at the upper right screen, the one filled with blueprints. "That is the layout of the entire area. John is running the op onsite, but our job is to keep an eye on everything else. He'll have a hard enough time keeping track of the team in the club, so Rory is giving him a hand on this end," he explained.

Gesturing to another screen with seven entries, bio read outs for five of them, Max asked, "And that over there? The names? Those are aliases for the team, right?"

Victor followed her hand and smiled. "That's our monitoring station for the team, and yes, those are their codenames. The readouts are to monitor the agent's status at any point in time on a mission.

"Why are there only five? How come...Gryphon and Morrigan don't have them, where as Marya, Finn, Artemis, Apollo, and...KCNM do?" Janet asked, having heard Devlan's words as he, Max, and Carmen joined them.

"For Morrigan -Cameron by the way- she is too old school to be comfortable with the monitoring. For her, us having her location is enough," Victor replied.

"And for Gryphon?" Max asked.

Smiling with quiet amusement, Devlan answered. "There are two reasons concerning Gryphon. The first is that she is very much like Cameron and hates the monitoring."

"And the second?" Josh piped up from across the table, not so sure about his question as he saw something he couldn't quite name cross Devlan's face.

"The second reason is because the implant that all NWI personnel are equipped with was ripped out of Amy's back on her last op. We have to give her body time to recover before another chip can be inserted."

"Oh." The simple syllable said all that really could've been as Janet sat back, more than a little stunned. Every time she thought they'd heard the complete list of what had transpired in Venice, something else jumped up and slapped them in the face. Learning of the op had been bad enough when it was a nameless, faceless agent, but now that she had not just a name and face to assign, but also memories and an honest to god person...it made everything hurt.

"That is actually the primary reason behind our difficulties in finding her," Victor pulled out a seat and sat down beside his newest recruits. "I know more than a few of you were wondering why in the hell it took a damn week to find her, but that's why. She was completely off our radar. Blind, stupid luck made us lose one agent and damn near the other too."

"Didn't Amy's partner have an implant too?" Chase spoke up.

"Unfortunately, just after the op went live something happened to her unit. Rory is still pulling it apart to find out what the hell happened to its transmitter. We'd hoped to extract them with Amy's co-ordinates, but then everything went to hell, badly and fast."

Victor was quiet for a moment and even though her main attention was on a small island off the Iberian Peninsula, he knew Rory remembered watching first Amy's signal cut out, and then, after five days, Kris' go red. Even though they couldn't get her co-ordinates, no matter how hard Rory fought to work her technomagic, Percival's implant continued feeding her bio data back to Valhalla. For five days they watched her body struggle against torture until finally, it simply couldn't continue. Watching her heart signal flatline and brain functions cease had been gutting, the only thing keeping most of the team still working towards the point of rescue was the hope that Amy was not dead.

"Ya there, Gryph?"

A light laugh transmitted clearly through the speakers located throughout the room. /"Loud and clear, Valhalla. Gotta turn my receiver down though or I'm going to go deaf before I even get in that damn club,"/ Amy replied via her comms.

Rory returned the laugh. "Has monkey-boy run set up yet?"

/"Considering I just got out of the shower, no, he has not."/

Rocking back, Rory laughed. "Good point. If that boy saw you naked, he'd have a nosebleed."

The reply was wry. /"Probably. Everyone there?"/

"Yup. Odin is just talking with the pups and explaining those nifty little chips you can have put in your pets and all nowadays."

Again, Amy laughed. /"Yeah, my parents just had their Lab done last month after he went missing for the fourth time in three weeks."/

"Yeah, I know Dev isn't too happy about letting his cougar out though without being chipped, but desperate times and when a cat's gotta go..." Rory grinned down at Devlan who glared at her.

There was a rumpling sound and when Amy answered, her voice was partially muffled. /"Delphi..."/ The agent's voice became clearer. /"Sorry about that; needed to put my shirt on."/

"Not a problem, Gryph. So, what co-lour?"

Amy just groaned. /"You are incorrigible, you brat."/

"You so know you love me, Gryphon."

/"Yes, but that doesn't mean I won't hurt you."/

"Ooooh, kinky. Just the way I like it," Rory shot back with a wild grin she knew Amy would catch, even if she couldn't see it.

/"Hold up, Valhalla; we're about ready here, I think,"/ the agent replied. /"Stand by."/

"Confirmed."

As Rory turned to one of her techs to consult with her on a few details, Janet spoke up again, asking a question both she and Max were curious over. "Gryphon?"

Victor, who had been listening to the exchange between his best agent and head-geek with a hand over his eyes, but small smile showing, lifted his head. "She couldn't keep the same codename obviously. How well known did your former employers make it?" The man rested his chin in his hand as he looked at Janet. "If we'd used it even once, she would've been dead before she could even get out the door. "

"Yeah, that make sense," Carmody conceded. "Any particular reason for that choice though?"

"Because in mythology, the gryphon was a cross between the eagle and lion, each the king of their realm." Victor let his hand drop to rest against the armrest of his chair as he effortlessly commanded the attention of all his new people. This was his strength; when he spoke, people simply listened. "Both strongly connected to the sun the gryphon is consecrated to. The Gryphon also represents symbiotic duality: good and evil, Satan and Christ, fearsome and gentle, wild and tamed. To some, the combination of the rapacious eagle and ferocious lion was once looked upon as the herald of the Devil and his legions to come, where as to others, the meeting of the ascendant splendour of the soaring eagle and strength of the terrestrial lion symbolised the divine and earthly natures of Christ as the Son of God and Son of Man."

"Alternatively, the Gryphon also is associated with the circle and inherent nature for everything to come back to its beginning," Rory added. "The positive qualities of the creature being that it was a protector and guardian, gentle, noble, vigilant, steadfast, strong, fleet, virtuous, and loyal."

"But they were also seen as sinful, vengeful, wild, and ferocious," Crichton spoke up. "Persian literature, however, calls them 'Guardians of the Light. ' Plus, the word 'griffen' meant enigma, which seems pretty accurate."

"Gryphus significat sapientiam jungendam fortitudini, sed sapientiam debere praeire, fortitudinem sequi." The table looked over to a softly smiling Janet as she translated the Latin. "'The griffin represents wisdom joined to fortitude, but wisdom should lead, and fortitude follow.'" She glanced over at Max for a moment before adding, "Nisbet's System of Heraldry, 1722. 'A gryphon born in arms signified that the first to bear it was a strong, pugnacious man in whom were found two distinct natures and qualities. Those of the eagle and the lion.' Late 14th century de Bado Aureo. I know far too much about Coats of Arms and Heraldry." Janet smiled sheepishly.

Devlan returned the smile. "As you can tell, a great deal of this matches up with our agent Gryphon. A codename here is not chosen in haste. One is found to fit you; it is who you are. Amy's simply fit better than any of us dreamed. Should you sign on, you will all be exchanging your previous aliases for new."

"But none of those are the reason we opted for the name with Amy," Rory spoke from where she stood above them, her hands on the steel railing that separated the upper half of the Bridge to the sunken section. "None of that really matters." The blue-haired young woman grinned. "Your test said AB was the perfect spy." Amber eyes flicked back up to the main displays, scanning over the overwhelming amounts of information easily. She leaned away for a moment to murmur something to a tech as she pointed at the particular bit of information she wanted followed up. "Said that what made her so damned perfect was that she had the flawless ability to lie." Rory spoke over her shoulder again, her voice firmer this time, an order intrinsic in the tone. "The other side of it though, is that where Amy could make anyone believe what she said, could convince them that her misdirection was actually the truth, she had another ability."

Light yellow-brown eyes drifted down to the group, a smile lurking there. "Victor already told you the gryphon represents a dual nature and in Amy this is even more true. She can lie, but no one can lie to her. She'll spot a false truth even before you can speak it. It's one of the reasons why she is so damned brilliant undercover," Rory explained. "A lesser known truth about Gryphons though is that in their presence, a lie cannot be told. This was the other reason why the gryphon segreant was used on shields in the age of sword and sorcery, because if a warrior could capture the essence of the gryphon, then his opponents may tell no lies. Amy is our Gryphon, the one to whom none may speak a lie."

~~~

Cameron tapped on the door lightly before pushing it open. Amy stood, waiting, having checked her appearance a final time, satisfied everything was right. Despite the meet location being a club, she'd opted for something a little more casual, but more to the point, the slate grey cargo pants slung low on her hips, simple black shirt exposing a sliver of tanned stomach, and the smooth leather jacket hid her injuries and weapons carried. Her appearance was neat and more than adequate for the place, but no one would mistake her for a flighty club-goer.

She turned, watching over the butter-soft texture of her coat as her team shuffled into the room. Each of them was someone she trusted, or at least as much as she could anymore. They knew her professional side and had worked with her on some of the most difficult ops any of them had been assigned. She couldn't quite call them 'friend' but she would put her life in their hands.

There was Reed, a quiet and intense woman with the complexion of midnight and the quickest knife Amy had ever seen. Zoe and Mikal, dark-haired twins and an unexpected addition to NWI, each displaying an aptitude for the world of espionage and covert tactics. More to the point though, somehow in spite of Zoe's deafness and Mikal's inability to speak, the pair were positively brilliant as they ran surveillance, the latter happily agreeing to work the floor with Owen and provide back up as needed. The disabilities that should've crippled their competency instead gave birth to a very different but incredibly potent effectiveness. Zoe would remain high above, her quick eyes missing nothing as she flawlessly communicated with her brother below; her sight paralleled only by her marksmanship.

John and Cameron rounded out the team. The young man co-ordinating the team and running both onsite comms and surveillance. Back in LA, Rory would monitor the entire operation and their surroundings but the team sans Amy would deal with John. Cam, under strict instructions, wasn't to leave Amy's side or let the young woman out of her sight. Though a small part of Amy's pride balked at the necessity Victor seemed to see, there were scarce few she would trust with her back. She also knew the master of unarmed combat would be content to remain in the background, despite who they met.

"Right." Amy cleared her throat. "Any last minute issues?"

"Just the usual," Owen responded. "Comms and are we expecting a cross, or uninvited? Oh, and, see no evil is good to go." The man grinned. Probably close in age to Victor, he was a veteran and provided an invaluable experience to whatever mission he was assigned. Her choice at including him tended to raise eyebrows as the ex-Marine was more frequently acting in as security or sent out on retrieval and rescue ops. But, as a few of those had actually involved Amy's own rescue, she was familiar with both his methods and knew as far as reserve back up, he was one of the best.

"Comms Jonny will assign in a moment; as for a double cross, not from the subject, no." The firmness in her tone clearly left no room for argument and her team trusted that. "However, uninvited visitors are always a risk, though no-one should know we're here. We are dealing with a high profile identity though, and more to the point, we all know how things never stay secret."

In a series of complicated gestures a combination of both standard ASL and the twins' own unique form, Mikal said, /Especially when it should be an easy to run op, but we should keep our guard. Right?/

Amy responded with both her hands and words. "Exactly. This is of course, assuming she even shows. She has no reason to."

/You are more than enough, Amy. If she got the message, she will be there./

"Mikal's right," Zoe agreed with her brother's statement, her voice holding only the slightest hint of her impairment. "Diamond always seeks what is best." She signed the rest. /You are the best./

Smiling ever so softly, Amy ducked her head a little and responded silently. A moment later, she pushed her mind back into the game, listening intently as John explained the set-up and last moment adjustments to the tech. The plan was simple, but in their situation, that was all it needed to be. Zoe would utilise the upper levels, keeping an eye from the vantage. Reed had opted to play bartender, giving her quick access to the private rooms. Owen and Mikal elected to roam, offering quick response and additional eyes. All this, John was to keep an eye on and co-ordinate while Amy and Cam walked into the dragon's den.

She exhaled deeply, pushing out the last of her nerves as she consciously shouldered the mindset she wore into every op. Something was different though, as she felt the familiar invasion of Gryphon. The hold wasn't as strong, the mask not fitting quite right. "Alright, if that's everything," Amy spoke as John finished the last of his explanations, pushing the discontent aside for another countless time. "Any objections, Valhalla?" she asked through her comms.

/"None, here. Clear waters for what should be smooth sailing. Link up to McCoy in progress."/ Rory replied. /"When you're ready, Gryphon."/

Meeting each of her team member's eyes, she gained a nod and nodded to herself unconsciously. "'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, '" Amy quoted softly, pulling the door open and crossing the threshold. Behind her, she heard the answering echo from Owen.

"'When the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. '"

~~~

The throbbing base of the club's music could've been described as deafening, but though she felt its pulse through her skin, Lucy barely heard what the DJ was playing. The entire night had been like that, as though her head was underwater and everything muffled by liquid insulation. Then, of course, there was the feeling of suffocation and flash of instinctual panic that came with drowning. Despite all of her reservations though and all the doubts, Lucy couldn't not be there, not with what the message meant...

/"Would you just shut up and listen?" Lucy scolded with an exasperated grin, as she leaned over to bump her shoulder against the other girl's.

"I am," Amy retorted with a grin.

Lucy gave the blonde a long, examining look. "Uh-huh, sure. Now, it's an incredibly simple method, but my father taught me that some times, old-school is more reliable."

"Is that why you never were caught? You did things the old way when people expected cutting edge?" Amy asked with interest. It wasn't simple curiosity lurking behind the question, but also the deeply ingrained habit of absorbing as much information in case of a later use or application. MIA or not, she was still a trained and qualified agent.

"Partly," the brunette replied honestly. "The truth is, I do use the most advanced and developing methods, which tends to throw people off the trail of less technically sophisticated ways." She smiled fondly. "I've been taught encryption algorithms, spook work, and all manner of covert play since I was old enough to grasp it. While most kids were playing with letter blocks, my father was teaching me all kinds of delightful things. I never knew what it all was though; it was always just a game."

Amy nodded, remembering when Lucy had explained to the blonde's surprise that the thief's parents had actually kept their world separate from Lucy. They gave her the means to excel in it, but first made sure she wasn't trapped within the walls of knowing nothing else. "Okay, so walk me through it."

Flashing a brilliant smile, the thief drew Amy until she was directly in front of her, seated in the chair, the blonde's shoulders against her chest as she reached over and manipulated the screen. "Now, you'll actually have to do this on the physical copy and not the online version I'm showing you here." Lucy typed in a quick address. "As easy as it would be for me to find it electronically, it would also make it that much easier for others too. Recognise the paper?"

Amy did and she grinned up at Lucy, wondering how in the world she knew about Barcelona. In the five days so far, she hadn't actually mentioned art school there. "Yeah."

Returning the smile, Lucy was happy, if slightly mystified by the reaction. "I remembered you mentioned wanting to see Spain on holiday and I've used the Barcelona edition of '20 Minutos' since its beginning, namely because I didn't like the trend 'La Vanguardia' was beginning to show this sort of contact." She paused for a moment, before explaining just why she'd chosen the paper in particular. "The truth is I use a paper from Barcelona because it's my birth city. A fact that only select few who are close to me know of, so no one else can find any significance in the choice."

Amazed at the chances, Amy shook her head, truly taken aback. "Really, wow. Would you believe that Barcelona's a place I've wanted to go more than anywhere else in the world?" She turned in the chair Lucy had sat her in, looking up at the famed thief. "Talk about crazy coincidences, huh?"

Lucy grinned and shook her head. "There are no coincidences, babe." She tapped the blonde on the nose, leaning down to brace both hands on the arm rests of the chair, her face close to Amy's. "Only things that are meant to be, yet too subtle for we mere mortals to see."

"You're a poet too, now?" Amy asked with a quirk of a grin.

"I've many hidden talents, my dear sweet Guenivere."

Frowning a little at the nickname she'd just been bestowed with, Amy brushed her hand against Lucy's arm. "Wasn't Guenivere the one that slept with Arthur's most trusted of knights?" She turned her objection humorous. "I'm not having an affair with Scud!"

 

Her head tipped back as Lucy laughed, truly amused. Sinking down to a crouch before the blonde, she rest her arms on Amy's knees. "Actually, a lot of times, Guenivere got a really bad rap in the legends. Her name means 'white shadow' and the truth is, she was the sovereign power behind the Pendragon's throne. Her duty was to blend the king's energy with that of the land and gave Arthur his right to rule, simply by being with him. Modern depictions forget a lot of the actual fact behind the woman, portraying her instead as a simpering, adulterous wife; just as was done to Eve and all women with that whole 'original sin' thing." Her grin turned devilish. "Besides, you've seen the movie 'King Arthur,' right? She kicks some major ass."

Laughing with her, Amy had to admit the reasoning in that argument was sound. "I'm still not having an affair with Scud."

"WHAT?!" The man in question stared at the pair in question, his blue eyes widened, his expression comical. "I *sooo* walked into the wrong part of the conversation, and if you don't mind I'm gonna turn right back around and try to forget I ever heard that!"

Amy fell back in her chair laughing as the woman kneeling before her rest her head against her thigh, shaking just as hard as her. "God, he's priceless." Amy shook her head with another snicker. Stretching one hand out, she brushed her fingers through dark strands of spun midnight.

Turning to look up at the blonde, her cheek resting just above her knee, Lucy was silent as Amy continued her soft strokes. "Yeah, he is. Helped keep me sane all those months in Iceland, but he wouldn't be Lancelot," she said vaguely, lifting her head as Amy's fingers slipped under her chin, encouraging her to. "That'd be someone else." She accepted the kiss, letting the explanation of her vague statement rest for another day, figuring she would have time to get around that particular fact when they had long enough to dedicate to it./

~~~

It was truly an awesome sight, the first few steps into Privilege, and she let the honest awe show, the cool mask of Gryphon pushed back for the moment. The new Privilege was one of the few modern wonders of the midnight world she'd yet to visit in her travels. A few years back, she'd had the chance to see it in its glory days, but a hell of an 'accident' had left the entire complex a bit of a disaster zone. Rumour said it was a conflict gone wrong, another blamed terrorist actions, and yet another tried to say it was an insurance scam. All that Amy really knew was that it meant nearly an entire rebuild, changing the club in many more ways than its reputation used to boast.

Much was still the same or at least extremely similar to what Amy remembered. The twenty-five-metre atrium roof, the pool that doubled as a dance floor, even the massive stages remained -and from the posters, the shows the club was known for were still held. Despite whatever had happened, the club seemed to still be very much alive and with the rebuild had come a year-round schedule that meant though it was off-peak, Privilege was still relatively packed that night. More than enough, anyway, to make finding a singular person a very difficult task. Thankfully though, she had a particular place to look.

/"So, what should I put in the message?" Amy asked after they returned to their project, Lucy now holding Amy on her lap as she navigated with the computer.

"Something that will hold significance only to me."

"What?” Amy quirked a wicked grin over her shoulder. "'Looking for a date with the devil?'"

Lucy rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out. "Smart ass. It has to blend in with everything else. Hell, break it up into separate entries and drop the key into another section. What it says isn't so important as that I know you need to meet with me."

"Will you reply to set it up? The meet?"

"No." Lucy shook her head. "Correspondence is too easy to crack. We set the location up before hand, only if I don't show, I'll put a reply a few days later."

"Now?"

Lucy nodded. "Now. Have you ever heard of 'Privilege?'"/

Fingers winding around her own pulled Amy back to the present as Cameron took her hand and tugged her deeper into the club. Playing the part of attentive partner, the taller woman turned and flashed a charming grin at her. With a playful jerk on Amy's hand, she pulled the blonde against her lean body. Bending down she asked in a wicked drawl, "Can Gryphon come out to play?"

The words hit her hard, the request acting like a catalyst to provoke the metamorphosis she needed. Her spine almost seemed to straighten a little more, her muscles relax that imperceptible bit, and her shoulders easily accepted the weight. Like a liquid fire and ice, Amy felt the persona slip into every crevice of her mind pushing aside the natural doubts and hesitation she carried with her, no matter how far she went.

So very rarely was anyone allowed to see the conscious change from one to the next, and utterly captivated as she always found herself, Cameron watched with no small amount of interest. Then, the vivid blue eyes flicked open, electric, and utterly alive with glittering energy and intensity. Unconsciously, the older agent pulled in a breath. Gryphon was always a sight to behold, and in that club, surrounded by so many, she was in her element.

Sliding her arm around her partner's neck, Amy found rhythm flawlessly with her taller companion. It was so easy, falling into the refuge of who she was as an operative. Describing or trying to explain the change left many with the impression of schizophrenia, but it was nowhere near a simple explanation. This person that she became as Gryphon was still her, still Amy Bradshaw -simply a completely different image shown than what she appeared. As Gryphon, she had walls and defences to keep things from truly touching her with the potency that otherwise would leave her ravaged and broken. Gryphon, for all the words, was her armour.

"Where do we need to be?" The words were hot in her ear, making her shiver in response.

"Not this room." She pulled her attention from the woman she danced with to glance about, some how seeing in the haze of artificial smoke, mirror, and lasers. Christ, it felt as though the very air vibrated with each thrumming beat. Though, that simply could be her body in all truth. "Further back; near the private rooms," Amy added, having to pull Cameron down so that she could speak into her ear. "There's another floor there; smaller. Reserved for...the privileged."

As Cam pulled back, an eyebrow arched and smirk showing at Amy's phrasing, she then rolled her eyes before tugging her partner through the floor. As they brushed by Owen, he directed his eyes upwards, signalling that high above, Zoe had them in her sights, keeping an ever-watchful eye on them. The nod could've easily been her moving to the music that flowed through them all, but her agent knew it for the sign it was.

It took more than a few minutes, navigating through the crush of bodies, but eventually, they ascended from the sunken floor and passed through unbothered to another chamber. This one, with a vaulted ceiling, though nowhere near as high as the main, presently carried the theme of the cosmos. If anything, the lack of illumination simply intensified what little the black and neon lights provided.

Affecting an air of cool indifference, Amy glanced up at a set of writhing bodies coated in multiple colours of glow-in-the-dark paint. If the three were male, female, or combination there in between, she wasn't really sure. Shaking her head with bemusement, Amy took the lead, pulling Cameron with her towards a bar. There, offering a friendly grin of a vaguely inebriated tourist, Amy released Cam's hand, placed both palms on the bar surface and pushed up. Knowing the game and cue, Reed took the brief, breathless kiss in stride, leaning forward enough so that she could speak into Amy's ear. "Stairs up the back. Flash the card and you should be through. Apollo will be waiting."

"Copy that. McCoy, Morrigan and I have reached the check point," the blonde murmured against Reed's earlobe, or more correctly the experimental comm the woman was testing for Rory.

Amy accepted the drink slid towards her with a flash of a smile, turning back to laugh as Cameron played the part well of a mildly embarrassed friend. Giving an apology to the harried bartender as she passed bills over to cover the tab, Cam wound an arm around Amy's midriff as she pulled the blonde back. From the napkin serving as a coaster, Cam palmed the key card, slipping it into Amy's pocket, using the cover of her motion to conceal the action. To anyone who might've been watching, they genuinely looked like a couple visiting to partake of the island's offerings.

The music changed again as they traded rooms, the card gaining them easy access to the reserved area, though not before both were subjected to a thorough pat down. Even though she'd known somewhere in her mind, and even planned for the eventuality, Amy felt the flash fire of terror blaze across her skin. Unknown hands passing across her body, coupled with the disorienting pulse of white light into her eyes broke the calm hold of Gryphon. Before she could even realise what was happening, they were granted access and pushed through.

All around her, the world caved in, pressing against her with suffocating force and intensity. The diminished light combined with the constant flickering and morphing of lasers and lights reducing sight even more to the point of distraction. Distantly, she recognised the current track as one that had apparently been declared a classic and was played throughout every club Amy had ever been in. It was also one she was not likely to forget after Venice. Heavy and intense, the track with the epilepsy inducing strobing lights helped trigger the suffocating cascade.

As they dropped down to a dance floor, bodies pushed in from every direction, clothed -or not- in any manner of the bizarre and very eclectic. Any other time, and it would've been an incredible opportunity to pause and take notice of the way some chose to express their individuality. She barely had the chance to give much true attention to her surroundings, instead forced into relying on her other senses, intensifying the impact all the more.

Faithfully, she gave her rare trust to Cameron, letting her partner lead her. She was too distracted in any case, not just from the unexpected sensory overload, but her heart beat faster than it should, her palms itched, and from the sickening roil in her stomach, Amy realised none of this situation was good. The driving need to get out washed over her; pushing down and wrapping around her like the fierce undertow of an ocean current.

Music pulsed in her ears, resonating deep within her chest, the strange phenomenon helping to close off her breathing. Heart pounding faster than the beat of the music, Amy barely realised the tremble taking over her body. She didn't know just how badly she shook until she collided into Cameron, missing that the taller woman had stopped.

She sprang back, eyes wild for a long moment, before she felt her mind return as she stared at her partner, concern stark in the grey-green of Cam's gaze. "G-" the taller woman pulled back on her words, recognising something few others could. "Amy." Cameron took a slow step towards the blonde.

Amy followed, bristling as someone slammed into her, barely keeping her innate reaction in check, some part of her fractured mind knowing they couldn't afford that sort of distraction or attention. Her breath came fast as her mind careened from one hyper alert jerk to another aggressive fight-or-flight impulse. Her eyes flicked up at Cam as the woman approached her again as one would a wounded animal, this time managing to not move back. Fear coloured the blue, startling against the normal calm and clarity she always managed to keep there.

"Fuck, I can't do this," she managed to whisper.

Cameron slapped her comm, disengaging her transmitter. "Amy."

"No," she backed away, her throat closing over any further words or air. Shaking her head with harsh jerking motions, Amy turned, as if to flee before a hand grasped hers. It was too much. Everything was too intense and she felt every little thing with an acute rawness that made each feel like a mini-mortar impact. Her cool distance she went into every mission with was gone; shattered and left in ruin back in the skeleton of Alibrandi's stronghold.

"Amy." The word was firm and unyielding but not loud. She turned, arm poised as if to strike but before she could think of following through with the intent she hovered near, the combat expert engaged her in a lock, pulling Amy's body against her own. "Damn it, girl," Cameron growled, holding fast as she tried to break through whatever haze the blonde had fallen into. "Get your head on straight before you call too much attention and get us killed," she hissed into Amy's ear.

As though all she needed were to shake her head, Amy felt the paralysing need to bolt flee her system, returning with it some amount of clarity and thought. Regardless of the restoration of her control, Amy still spoke through her comm. "Valhalla, I can't do this."

~~~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5B as originally posted on the 31st of August, 2006 on All Things DEBS. Final part officially posted before the story was eventually placed on hold in May 2007.

*CHAPTER FIVE B*

High above, Zoe spoke into her comm. "Visual on Gryphon and Morrigan," she said as the pair slipped into the club.

/Copy that LS./ The response scrolled across as text along the inside of the yellow tint glasses, the reply from her brother an irritating one.

With the hard reality of both Mikal and Zoe's disabilities, Rory and John took to the challenge of designing comms for the twins and remove dependency upon remaining within line-of-sight. Surprisingly enough, a very old system had presented a solution in the form of Morse code. A touch-sensitive plate held against the hard palate of Mikal's mouth let him use words as well as any other, while both text on her glasses and the same Morse relay patch against her skin, Zoe neatly side-stepped the difficulties her deafness incurred.

Both twins were equipped with the specialised transmitters and receivers, the code being their first language. The greatest asset of the comms however was that without Zoe's glasses or Mikal's earpiece, the units were virtually undetectable. Compact, invisible to sight, and transmissions far safer to send, the units saw probably more use in undercover or high hostile ops than the standard mic and ear buds. Once an agent was trained and equipped, they found themselves able to send or receive any message whilst surrounded by enemy forces under the shroud of complete silence.

The young woman grinned to herself as she navigated the catwalks and balconies with feline skill and enthusiasm. Up here, surrounded by lights and metal where sound had no place, Zoe was at complete home and ease. Her line of sight clean and unobstructed and with little chance of being happened upon by hostiles, she found herself pleased. The Cx4 strapped across her back hopefully would see no use tonight, but if the Storm was to be required, then she definitely had the vantage point. With smooth silence, the girl with mischief in her dark eyes followed her teammates through the club.

As Gryphon and Morrigan reached Reed and the blonde checked in, Zoe had to smother a laugh at her colleague's expense. Tracking the pair from above, the young woman sent a lilting comment through her comms. "Everything all right there, Marya, or's Gryph left you dazed and bemused?"

/Shut up, Artemis,/ came the reply, the black-haired woman's response provoking an explosive laugh from Zoe. /Cover or not, does that damn woman have to kiss so well?/

/Tell me about it./ Mikal's words tugged another amused sound from Zoe as she remembered the day her brother had been treated to that particular pleasure. /She saved my life, yes, but damn; I think my lips tingled for a week afterwards!/

"Undoubtedly, bro. You know, Gryph. Burns hotter than any fire, colder than the Antarctic ice, and once she's under your skin, is more addictive than any drug," Zoe offered up. Her words were very true, despite their poetic nature. It was something she'd had the chance to see so many times in the past. There simply was something about Amy that completely arrested a person not so much as on sight, but at the first taste. Once you were sighted by Gryphon, more often than not, you were irreversibly hers.

~~~

Listening to the banter of the team, Victor had to shake his head in amusement. Another supervisor might scold his team and direct them back to the mission, but he knew it was an incredibly moot point. Amy had chosen these particular agents because she knew they were the best, and they were all choices Devlan completely agreed with. The negligent distraction another might see, he knew was simply their rapport; one that their lives depended upon, and so he let them play.

The interaction, of course, served a second purpose as it played out in the speakers of the communications area. As his newest recruits listened in, some of them smiling, others trying not to laugh, they were treated to a very simple reason as to NWI's mission effectiveness. Structure and command existed, yes, but Devlan made the choice early on to not cripple his teams by demanding absolute protocol. They were all on-guard and ready to respond to any directive, but the casual, seeming relaxation let agents shake the rigid tension from their shoulders and go with a clear mind. In all their ops and missions, Victor had been pleased to note that the policy left him not only with much more efficient personnel, but they had a better reaction time to the few orders he'd had to bark, and so far, he hadn't had to deliver any on this mission. If it held true to form, his participation in this crucial operation would be at a minimum.

/Very true, Artemis,/ the computer program relayed and vocalised Mikal's response for the benefit of the team and observing group. /Apollo checking in; Gryph in sight. Will give- Hold up, Petra. Possible situation./

His attention snapping around to his head of tech, Victor sent a sharp, questioning look to Rory. The blue-haired young woman shrugged and reached down to pick up a headset, which she immediately tossed to him. Victor had just finished curling the earpiece into place as words filtered though the thousands of kilometers of network separating him from Amy.

Halfway across the world, he paused in his pacing and closed his eyes, glad that the moment had finally come. Bitter-sweetly thankful it had because this moment of panic meant that Amy was still feeling and not reacting on automatic as an agent. He turned and addressed Rory. "Tell the team to hold for a moment. Isolate Morrigan's mic from the group and make absolutely positive the line is secure." 

The group scattered around him all looked up with varying stages of response at the seemingly unprovoked order, having heard nothing to warrant it. He waited until his tech turned and nodded, hearing the same message from Amy as Victor.

"Amy."

/"Victor...I know this is a shitty way of telling you, but..."/ Victor heard the long pause and all that Amy couldn't articulate in the silence. /"I... I'm not in control, Victor."/ She finally expelled the breath she'd been holding, the self-loathing in the admission audible.

"You've been through hell, Amy, this is a normal reaction," he replied. He was glad the moment had come, but, why did she have to ask for help in this setting, of all places? Time marched against them and they'd set unmovable events in motion that they *had* to meet. More to the point though, as much as it ached to do so, he had to push her back into this. Not only for the good of the mission, but for her own wellbeing too. If she shied away now, there was no telling of when -if ever- she could return, not only to where they were, but to her vulnerable state. That, more than anything, might just sway their objective to their side. The choice sickened him, but it was one that had to be made. "You *can* do this."

/"How? How can I see her again?"/

Relief flooded his system, grateful that this crisis was about Lucy. This panic meant then, that she was still reacting with her emotions; with her heart and that meant despite the damage of recent times, she wasn't broken completely. Bent and bruised to high heaven, but not yet broken. Scarce little else worried Victor more than an agent that felt nothing. Nothing was quite so dangerous as an unfeeling, expertly trained-to-kill loose cannon. "Amy..." Of course, it being Diamond meant that it was all the more complicated though, with the wonderous tangled intricacies of the human heart needing to be taken into account. "You can do it for two reasons, one is that you know you have to."

/"And the other?"/

"The other? ...can you do that to her? Again?"

He could hear the sharp inhale even through the earpiece. Silently, he sent up a prayer of thanks for the years of unofficial romantic counselling he'd given to those around him. /"That's not fair."/

"No, it's not," he agreed. "But you know it's true."

~~~

Blinking, Lucy felt the touch of memory shake off, its lingering touch enough to distract her from the constant stress and worry. By the end of it though, the chance to explain had never come and when given another reminder, it had been of the worst kind. Amy gone, Lucy preparing for her final effort, and then something else entirely intervened. Closing her eyes, she pushed back against the icy slide of agony that time had turned to be, the tremble in her skin and nauseating roiling in her stomach threatened all the composure she possessed.

Warm arms wrapped around her, drawing her against a very solid, very real body, banishing the hold of memory and recollection. "Don't think about it," the warm voice rumbled in her ear, a nose brushing against her hair. "What's done and gone cannot hurt us any longer."

"No, but it sure as hell can haunt us," she replied, directing tormented brown eyes to soothing, warm teal. The assassin carried her own shadows, but Lucy always felt them more keenly. Despite all the preparations and anguish thrust upon her from early in life, the world was never meant for one such as she and each pain remained a blight upon her very soul. It was what made her so very priceless and powerful.

"But that which haunts us does not determine our actions." Katja turned Lucy so that she faced her. "We cannot change the past, true. But what we can do -what you can do here tonight- is to set right something that never should've happened."

"But if I didn't-" Lucy found her words cut off by warm fingers on her lips.

"Let that one alone, Luce." There was a tautness in the blonde's voice, betraying her own raw emotions. Taking the thief's face in her hands, Lucy's skin warm and soft against her palms, she gently leaned down. "Let the past lie where 'tis. Concentrate on now." Her lips were soft against Lucy's as they yielded to the sweet kiss, the hands gripping her forearm and resting upon her hip tightened.

Katja ignored the fact that the embrace could be termed as fairly public. She ignored that they hadn't the time for a quiet moment stolen where temporal forces marched against them. She ignored that situations like theirs inevitably became complicated by the wrong person catching them in a tender moment. It was a fact with them, something that tended to happen despite all their best efforts. She ignored it all in the face of knowing that the woman she shared her breath with and was her very life needed an anchor and reminder. And since Eva had found her and taken her home, Katja had never been able to deny Lucy anything.

Pressing her lips to the tan forehead, Katja smiled down at the woman her life had been tied to since that cold winter night. She reached up and brushed dark strands from the warm, brown eyes, smiling at the memory of perpetual admonishments the almost too-long hair had always managed to gain Lucy in her youth. "Let not what has come before rule you now. Meet with her. Talk to her and maybe find out what happened. Find out why she is still in this world and perhaps we can make a way to get you both out."

Lucy gave a soft laugh, letting her head drop to rest against Katja's collar. "Pipe dreams, dear Katja. Pipe dreams." Although she was distracted and her attention isolated to the woman half in her arms, the span of time that elapsed from her being sighted to Lucy knowing was momentary. A fraction of a second later, she was tracking the scrutiny, searching out the watcher, and then she simply knew. "She's here," her lips barely moved with the whisper, Katja reading the words more than hearing them.

~~~

Amy blew out a long breath. "Damn you, Victor." Closing her eyes for a moment, Amy fought against the surge of emotion the words provoked. The hardest part was the simple fact that Devlan was right.

/"Good girl, Amy."/ She could hear his insufferable smile. She wished fervently that she could reach through the comm and smack it right off his face...mostly because he was absolutely right.

The bastard.

When she got back, she'd definitely owe him a smack.

Thinking about the promise of retribution brought a ghost of a smile to Amy's lips, the amusement dancing through her with a light touch. Around them, the pulsing throng flowed, bodies pushing against them from all sides. Behind her, Amy could feel hands, breasts, muscles; all pushing against her back, forcing her to remain flush against Cameron, every other push forcing them yet closer. Her left arm was curled up between them, her palm lying flat against the broad muscle of Cameron's shoulder, her fingers tangled in the collar of the buttoned shirt her impromptu partner was wearing. She could feel the steady, rapid beat of Cameron's heart under her hand, the cadence centring her in the throbbing crowd.

The difference in their heights was enough to allow the dark haired woman's arms to curl protectively around Amy, wrapping the battered agent in the protective warmth of her embrace. One large, warm palm was open, flat against the gently curved plane of Amy's spine, just above the low waist of her pants. Steadily, slowly, her cheek brushing against Amy's, the dark head descended until Cameron's lips pressed against the upper curve of Amy's ear, reaching their destination in concert with the firm thigh that pressed suddenly between her own.

"Fuck! Sorry, Amy." Cameron shifted slightly, her thigh sliding smoothly between Amy's. The anonymous foot lodged just below the back of her knee refused to move, keeping her just off balance enough that they had to remain locked in their salacious embrace.

A short chuckle sounded from the woman pressed against her from breast to knee, one slim fingered hand sliding up from Cameron's chest to curl around the back of her neck. Tangled together, for all the world, they appeared as lovers, each rapt upon the other to the entirety of the rest of humanity. "I really don't think we have anything else to worry about now." She pulled her head back far enough to let her smile up at her partner, the lingering unease ebbing to a low ache that tweaked at her nerves.

Cameron's eyes were gentle as their faces hovered mere breaths apart. "You have to think about one other thing in all of this, Amy. Not only did you accept this mission for a reason; one only you know, but you have one other question to answer."

"What?"

"Can you do it to yourself again?"

Amy groaned. They'd been content to let her carry on for nearly three years, but now they had to call her on it? Now, they had to make her ask those questions? Now, of all times? She sighed again, her head suddenly finding a sympathetic rhythm in the pulsing music. "At this point, I..." Beneath the warmth of her tan, Amy paled suddenly, the blood draining as she felt her chest expanding in sharp reaction to the impact. "My god." It was funny, even after two and a half years, so much hell, the way things had been left, and having half a dance floor filled with bodies between them, just what the simple act of meeting Lucy's eyes could do to her. "Luce..." she breathed out.

~~~

In her ear, the blonde heard a hasty warning from one of the apparently slack watchdogs in place. Cool eyes following Lucy's gaze, Katja took in the dark clad woman and her tall companion. It was actually at the sight of Cameron wrapped around the agent that pushed a touch of recognition to register, the barest of intrigue hinted by the quirk of her mouth. Some part of her mind that forever remained distant and neutral observed with interest that irony played at will that night, letting both Amy and Lucy see each other for the first time in years, but each in the arms of other women.

Dropping her head, she spoke into Lucy's ear, her body language intentionally and unmistakably familiar. "If you think you need an out..." Katja glanced at the agent and back to Lucy again, the thief flicking her attention to the assassin.

She leaned down, taking Lucy's mouth with deliberate ease. Knowing the vantage point of the table meant they could be seen by a great many, Katja kissed Lucy long and slow. Languid familiarity lined her actions, leaving no mistake as to the allowances given to her. When she pulled back, she met the glare with amusement in her green eyes.

"Must you always be a shit and complicate things?" Lucy demanded. "You are an epic pain in the ass." Lucy complained, but the answering mirth in her own eyes told the true story.

Shaking her head softly, the thief rolled her eyes, both amused and irritated. "Brat," she accused bare seconds before pulling Kat down to press a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth, the gesture teasing, intimate, and affectionate. Patting the blonde's stomach, Lucy's eyes were once again on the woman making her way through the dance floor. "Go find out why we had no warning of their arrival." She turned her gaze back to Katja, a dangerous glint in it. "I want to know every move made in this club. Find her team."

The flicker in the assassin's demeanour was imperceptible to anyone else with the exception of Lucy as the blonde straightened the relaxation from her frame. Touching her fingertips to her forehead, she nodded and said, "Consider it done."

"I already do," Lucy replied her eyes back on the approaching pair as her assassin slipped around her, pausing at the foot of the steps as she waited for the two to reach her.

~~~

/"I know we've been concentrating on today. On the here and now and taking it one day at a time, but if anything happens and you need me...for anything, any time, any where, *no matter* what happens, I want you to remember this." Lucy kept her expression gentle to keep any worry from touching Amy, but her words held a solemness she knew had to be pressed.

To her credit, the blonde didn't try to dissuade Lucy from her pre-emptive measure planning, instead tilting her head to the side as she looked on affectionately at the thief everyone said was so horrible. If she was vile then why on earth was the woman promising her help, no matter what might transpire in the coming future?

"Even if we end up like enemies-" Amy snorted, earning a mock glare from Lucy. *"If* it happens -that is the point of a contingency, you know- then I want you to remember this. I'll never abandon this method without giving you some warning, but if for any reason, I'm not with you and you need me, use this."

Turning, Amy slipped a leg on either side of Lucy's lap, smoothly straddling her lap as she gently brushed back dark hair from the thief's eyes. Leaning forward, her lips brushing Lucy's, she smiled and rested her forehead against the brunette's.

Amy's arms wrapped around her shoulders, Lucy was pressed for a moment to not cross her eyes in an effort to focus on her girlfriend. "I just...I want to know that you'll be safe."

"I will be, Lucy," Amy promised, kissing Lucy long and slow to both lend something to her words and for the simple sake of doing so. "And even though I don't know what could happen, I will remember this."

Lucy nodded, knowing the promise was all Amy could really give her. For all her power and resources at her disposal, the future was one realm that irritatingly persisted in remaining out of her grasp, leaving her the option of only making multiple plans for as many eventualities as she could conceive. Even then, it was something of random chance, whether or not what came up had any sort of contingency laid in place. "That's all I'm asking, babe." The thief smiled up at the AWOL agent. "Now, I think there was discussion of Jackie verses Bruce..."/

~~~

Solitary and singular, she stood apart from everything in Amy's life, not just in that club; nothing before or after able to even stretch near touching what she was. Sweet as sin and teaching the devil a thing or two simply by example, Lucy was a vision of something Amy could never word. From her first glance of the thief, apt and accurate words fled the blonde; Lucy defied all mortal description, instead crippling the human tongue in awe.

Midnight hair pulled back into an elaborate braid, she fit every fantasy of the flesh, her dark gaze intense and incendiary as it swept through the club, branding all it touched. Amy was no different, except in how deeply she felt that burn, how its touch still lingered even after parting from its quiet probing. Her elegant, dark features schooled to an impassive observance, Lucy had just enough of an aloof air in her manner to demand intrigue and attention, especially as she stood, waiting for Amy to approach her, and for the briefest of moments, the agent wondered how Lucy would've fit in the time of knights and kings.

Her first glance was deceiving, giving the impression of trademark full black. And then, as the agent took the figure in completely, she realised black had been traded in favour of a tailored, royal blue shirt and -to the blonde's mild surprise- a pair of faded, comfortable blue jeans. The difference was enough to demand a second look; Amy's brain stalling at the way the denim adhered to the lengthy muscle of the brunette's thighs. Just as she was recovering from the mental reset of Lucy in jeans, she realised the material was worn to the point of velvety textured softness, stretched over flexing legs as Lucy turned, highlighting toned sleekness for a single tantalising moment.

Her mouth suddenly dry, it was all Amy could do for a moment to swallow, all the moisture fleeing southward with the instinctual contraction of response. Whatever she'd been expecting to see in the club that October night, Amy ended up with something else entirely as her palms itched to slide down the soft, covered thigh.

Descending the collection of steps that separated the smattering of tables from the dance floor outskirts, Katja watched from the final few stairs as the blonde agent and her dark partner slipped around the final obstacles. Both were graceful -she knew that personally on the count of the second- but the assassin's attention remained upon Amy. Her movements weren't simply fluid - they displayed an elegance of the most extraordinary kind. This was a woman of intrigue and mystery, one who possessed secrets and knowledge of a great many things - not simply those of the State. She, like Lucy and Katja, was a predator and something in the assassin stood up and took delighted notice. Katja understood as those few seconds passed just what had captivated Lucy about Amy Bradshaw.

This was going to be interesting.

Amy slowed as she approached Katja, not necessarily hesitant, but wryly trying to decrypt the puzzle. Pale eyes momentarily flicked up to the waiting woman before returning to the one before her.

Nodding in Lucy's direction then turning, Katja took the pieces Amy had managed to figure out and promptly threw them out the window as she flashed a grin of charm and welcome, stepping down to the floor, bringing her to the same level as Amy. "She's waiting for you," she murmured, stepping close to the operative as she brushed by her. An amused light took to her eyes as she carefully took notice of each change her proximity brought.

This was most definitely going to be interesting.

As she approached, Amy spared the assassin a moment, somehow pulling her eyes away from Lucy and letting the demands of Gryphon be sated. At her request, Rory had loaded everything she found on the woman before Amy and slipped it with the rest of the intel packed into her kit. As they'd flown over the Atlantic, she poured over the collection of information. Sound files, vids, even chat logs from various rooms across the internet, most of the information Rory amassed was unconfirmed rumour, but even that was enough to begin sketching an image of this mysterious woman cited as the best assassin in the world. A claim that Amy scarcely would've put faith in if it weren't for the lack of evidence.

That there was little to nothing tying this 'Kusanagi' to any of the hits she was said to have carried out simply lent more weight to the claims. It suggested proficiency unlike that of any other, and that was what Amy found intrigue in. As another ghost in this particular world, Katja's place as premier assassin felt all the more conceivable to the shadow operative. After all, if /she/ didn't exist, then what was to say there wasn't another out there like her?

Namely because of the different means used, Amy's secondary sources turned up much more information than Rory's searches. NightWatch's premier hacker could essentially break the encryption algorithms on any computer, database, or server, but she couldn't search within information parameters she did not have. Some details were too precious for the blonde to not keep for herself, later using them to aid her own research. Raised, trained, and intimately tied to the noble Andrades house, Katja had appeared in about '88/'89 and, as soon as young Ana Ilucinda was ready for the exclusive European schools of her youth, the little blonde was enrolled with her. Thinking back to the old school photos, Amy had to smile softly at the image of this intensely charismatic woman in contrast to the adorable and shy girl never far from her younger, darker companion.

Almost incongruous, yes, but not impossible. Not from the mischief that sparked in laughing green eyes.

~~~ 

Where before it had been with the terror of an avalanche, the club faded to absolute nonexistence as Amy's focus contracted to the dark woman waiting with clear and patient reservation. Two and a half years and eternity between them, yet just as before, Lucy's eyes caught hers in a moment and refused to release her. Nothing existed in the world but each other, the few metres of physical separation nothing compared to what played behind the scenes now. Two and a half years, so many lies, painfully learned mistrust...all warred with a meagre fortnight of blissful contentment and happiness that culminated with betrayal and heartbreak.

"You got my message," Amy said by way of greeting, knowing instinctively that neither of them had the strength for the charade of pleasantries. They both hurt, she knew it at a glance, so she spared them the agony of mocking the past. Besides, Amy had been accused on many an occasion of having a membership to the 'not thinking about it' club.

Lucy nodded. "I did," her answer simple and low, but exposing so much with the deep tone.

"You came."

"Did you doubt?"

She was answering before she thought. "Never. Not really."

Lucy smiled then, the gesture genuine, though small. "I promised you. Any time, any place. Anything."

"I know," she returned it, the corners of her mouth lifting in both memory and response. "And I think that's why I knew -some where- you'd be here tonight. Lies never had any place with us."

"I know," the thief gave Amy her words back. "I'll admit though, 'surprised' doesn't even begin to cover my reaction to seeing that message."

"I imagine," Amy conceded, shaking her head softly. "No one from my old life knew I was still an agent." Something made her speak the words, to offer some sort of explanation for what she imagined was a jarring and strange experience.

Lucy opened her mouth to correct her statement when the blonde's words connected fully. Her manners -slow to react in the face of extraordinary circumstances- kicked in as she waved Amy and her tall companion over to a table. "No one? Not even Miss DEBS herself?" Lucy questioned, honestly surprised.

"No one," Amy gestured to the brunette at her side. "Lucy, this is Cameron. Cam, I think you know enough for introductions to be redundant."

The woman in question smiled and offered a hand out to the thief, the quirk of her lips still lingering as she waited to see if Lucy would accept the gesture. When she did, it became a full grin as Cam answered, "Perhaps, but I happen to like the little rituals of civilisation. It reminds us we aren't all animal."

Considering this tall stranger, Lucy swept her gaze up the lanky form, identifying weapon and subtle definition with flawless skill. There was peak fighting form, and then there was this, and Lucy found herself intrigued to realise she wasn't sure who'd win a bout between them. It was in the grey-green eyes that she saw all she needed to though. Lucy had been raised from birth to know another's intentions before even they did; where another saw a blank slate, secret and truths lay bare to her knowing eyes.

Nodding softly to herself, her probing was finished long before either agent would realise; the fraction of a second providing all she needed to know. "I think I like you," Lucy replied, accepting the hand held out to her. The grip strong and deliberately firm, Lucy found herself truly impressed at the careful control of contained power as she returned the pressure equally. "Too many forget that this world has the same customs and civilities to follow as the outside," she offered musingly. As they sat, her dark eyes remained rapt upon Amy. The blonde was careful in her movement, favouring her ribs on one side and keeping her left arm close to her body.

Her tanned features were flawless where Lucy knew bruise and cut lurked, giving way to the same beauty that still stirred something deep in the thief's chest. She wasn't particularly positive how, but the injuries she knew Amy to possess had been covered well. It was for the best absolutely, but something railed against this starkly apparent cover up. Erasing the marks didn't truly make them go away; it merely hid them from sight.

"What do you mean no one knows?"

"Just that. Up until a few days ago, the only people that knew I was still working were my own agency. And even then, I think most don't realise who I am," Amy shrugged, enough of a delay in the movement of her left side a further testament to Lucy's perception. There was no possible way that Amy had any business being here.

"You aren't even working in a black section of the DEBS?" These were questions she'd asked while searching over the last week and even though her suspicions lead her in a different direction, Lucy asked them anyway.

Amy surprised her by laughing. "Lucy, what everyone thinks of as covert ops is like the Carnival in Rio compared to us. Criminal or cop alike, they don't know we exist." The words were not a boast but simple fact as she said them. "The DEBS, CIA, FBI, Interpol, Mafia, gangs, Military, or any other organisation has no idea who we are. *If* they even know we are."

"And who's we?"

"Internationale het Horloge van de nacht," Amy responded with a grin.

Something about the name struck Lucy as faintly familiar, like some sort of an old poem she'd heard somewhere before. "The night watch?" Lucy closed her eyes and shook her head. "Okay, I think I want this story from the beginning; if that's not too much."

Glancing over at Cam on her left, Amy held a silent conversation with the shorthaired woman for a moment before Cam shrugged. The blonde was quiet for a few seconds more until she said to her partner with a tired half-sigh, "Switch your comms back on." At Lucy's questioning look, answered, knowing her words would be carried all the way to Valhalla. "If I'm telling this story, I only want to once. Victor?"

/"It sounds like a very good plan, Gryphon. We'll filter you through on our end."/

Blue eyes flicked up to touch on the warmest eyes Amy had ever seen in her life, and she found herself sighing just a little. "Endgame... For going off without a hitch was an unmitigated disaster for me personally." She glance down, examining her hands for a few moments before looking up again, the memories coming easily to her as she recounted the events that had completely altered her life. "Graduation was the following weekend and as according to plan and realistically, by all rights, I was top of my class, received full honours, and essentially handed any choice of assignment. I...informed my superiors, instead, of my decision to retire and to say they were displeased would be a pretty drastic understatement."

If the words existed to correctly categorise the level of reaction her resignation had incurred, Amy had never come across them. Petrie alone looked as though she'd had a minor nuclear meltdown with the news and the others... Well, needless to say, no one had expected her announcement and even fewer were willing to accept it. If Amy had thought Max was cold to her before, then her reception that night had been positively Antarctic and continued well on into the following weeks. Janet seemed to understand why she felt the need, and her French teammate had offered the strangest mixture of compliment and insult she'd ever heard, but then, Dominique seemed to excel in utterly confounding all those she spoke to.

"About two weeks after though, I found the offices of a group called 'Aid, Art, and Humanity Abroad' and signed up to work with them. I wanted to study art and follow that, but I couldn't just abandon everything. For the last four years, I'd spent all that time helping people and just because I wasn't an agent anymore...I just couldn't sit by idly, knowing all that I did." Amy lifted her eyes to meet Lucy's. "You know what it's like, that demand to do something."

Smiling ruefully and with a touch of sadness, Lucy nodded. She did indeed know that particular burden; it was one that no matter how much you wanted it to, did not simply go away because you didn't want to heed it any longer. It was something Lucy had learned early, both her parents instilling the lessons simply by example and later, she'd learnt it again. Those stagnant years in Iceland had asked a price, but it was instead Katja who had squared the debt owed. From that moment, after healing the damage caused because of her inactivity, Lucy swore to never again abandon her charge or duty.

"At Graduation though, I'd been approached by a man. I was ready to tell him to get stuffed, but instead, I ended up listening to what he had to say. That afternoon, Victor Devlan told me there were other avenues to follow if I still wanted to do the job that was in my blood, that I didn't have to stay with the same agencies or even be known, but if I wanted to remain in, then there were people like me out there." Amy shifted back, leaning against the leather of the booth as she let the fingers of her right hand sketch out an aimless pattern on the surface of the table. Her blue eyes flicked up to rest on the tanned face once again. "At first, I didn't know what he meant, but then, I realised he meant what you'd shown me."

Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise as Lucy blinked, twisting in her chair to prop one arm up over the back. "I showed you?" she repeated, a single dark brow remaining arched.

Amy smiled softly. "Yes. You showed me that the world really isn't black and white. That it really is about what shade of grey more than anything. After you, it was all I could see, but the DEBS? They deal in absolutes with no room for anything but. After meeting you...it was like trying to see the world with blinders on. I /knew/ things were there, but no one would tell me what I was seeing was real." Her eyes returned to her hand, identifying the scar on her index finger from a bad break a year ago idly. "Victor, though, he was willing to not only confirm, but help explain some of it. I started meeting him for coffee through the week and by the time I signed on for AAHA, I'd tentatively agreed to run through a few trials for him."

"So, let me get this straight. You left the DEBS and hooked up with these guys?" Lucy jerked her thumb at the patiently silent Cameron.

Wondering if there was something else in the statement, Amy surreptitiously answered. "Kind of. I just... The DEBS weren't the right agency for me," she finished with a sigh. "When Victor found me and told me about NWI, it sounded exactly like what I thought the spy business should be. It also gave me the chance to start over. Everybody knew the 'Perfect Score' was with the DEBS, their poster child. How was I supposed to get past that?"

"What? You got fed up with being in the limelight, or did the scrutiny just get too close for comfort after..." Lucy waved a hand in a vague gesture. The irony of her being the known recluse asking such a question wasn't lost on either of them and that was enough to push past the oblique reference. "Decided it was time for the Perfect Score to go somewhere else?"

She didn't even think about it as she reached out and touched Lucy's arm, using the contact to stop the other woman. Amy shook her head. "I don't use that call sign anymore. When I left the DEBS I left that codename behind too."

Lucy spared a brief glance at the blonde's fingers resting lightly on her skin, but didn't say anything about them or pull away. "Ah, so that's why Scud didn't catch that you were still doing the secret spy thing. He was searching for transmissions with a defunct alias." She could feel the sweet burn of Amy's fingers on her skin, reminding her of those deliciously decadent long nights and late mornings from a lifetime ago.

Amy smiled and pulled back, covering the withdrawal as she leaned back against the booth. "Yes and no. I didn't just change call signs. You won't find any trace of me on missions because my identity and involvement have been buried so deeply, you wouldn't know it if you were staring straight at it. Victor's made sure of that, because he knows if people figure out who I am..."

"Every two-bit criminal and wannabe-villain would be out for the head of the Perfect Score," the dark woman finished, understanding dawning in a chilling rush.

"Exactly. I've come close a few times to being identified," she admitted. "And have been once."

Lucy's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the statement. "Why the hell wasn't it all over the networks then. You should know villains are worse gossips than little old church ladies."

The comparison made Amy snort with laughter; it was, amazingly enough, an apt description. Her next statement stole the humour from her though, her expression becoming solemn. "Because he didn't have very long to revel in his great discovery."

Her expression lifted again in surprise at the finality Lucy heard in Amy's tone, hearing the words that Amy didn't speak immediately. "Ah, that would definitely stop him from talking," she paused and her dark eyes touched on Amy's lighter ones for a searching moment. "Did you, or someone else?"

"Me." God knew why she was speaking of things that she'd never mentioned since they'd happened, obscure vagueness or not. Being around Lucy was dangerous for her like that. Something about the dark thief made her want to recount everything that had ever happened, like a lapsed Catholic returning to the confessional. Maybe it was just something about her, or the fact that no matter what poured forth, Lucy wouldn't simply condemn her. "It was my mess; me who placed everyone in danger, so...I did what I had to do."

"And sacrifice a little bit more of your humanity too?" Damn it, that wasn't what she'd intended to say, but it was a valid and true question, so she allowed it to remain hanging heavily in the air between them.

"Something like that, but what does a part of my humanity matter in the face of countless lives?"

Shaking her head, Lucy waved a hand in the air. "See, now that's why I never got altruism. Always worrying about everybody else. If you do that, who'll take care of you?" Lucy responded flippantly, drawing a shake of the head from Amy. "What's your new name?"

Blue eyes regarded her for several moments before Amy replied, "Gryphon."

Lucy's eyebrows shot up again. "Interesting choice. Interesting and absolutely fitting." Then, brown eyes widened as the thief straightened from her half slouch as she stared at Amy, a laugh finding its way from her throat. "My god, don't tell me you work with Zeus." Lucy shook her head. "That bastard."

Trading a look with Amy, Cameron shrugged. "What do you mean?" the blonde asked.

"Your Victor Devlan. He uses the name Zeus, doesn't he?" Lucy sat back, her jaw working in a way that spoke of irritated frustration to Amy. She snorted and looked away for a moment, feeling a blast of irrational anger as connections became clear to her.

"Why?" Amy asked, not sure what had flared Lucy's temper so quickly. Even with all she knew of the master criminal, this unexpected trigger confused her.

Returning her gaze back to Amy, the brown softened a touch, letting the agent know she was not the cause in any way. "'Be on thy guard against the Gryphons, the keen-mouthed unbarking hounds of Zeus'..." she quoted. "A couple of years ago, some of my people ran into someone known only as 'Zeus.' Got us into a really tight situation that damn near blew up in my face." The dark thief shook her head. "And do you also follow what Robert Brown so poetically described?" At Amy's mildly confused expression Lucy paraphrased, "Gryphons are the avenging bird of Nemesis, bringing in due course, doom and retribution upon the evil-doer; because the light-power searches and finds out the wicked. Do you find the wicked, Amy?"

There were so many ways to answer the question. So many responses she could give, but it was her first that she followed and gave to Lucy, born on gilded wings of her Gryphon instinct. "No, Lucy." The wolfish grin that curved Amy's lips was, at worst, the single most seductive thing Lucy had ever seen. A little more of a curve to her lips and Amy would look exactly the same as she did that one time just before she had worshipped every inch of Lucy's body with her mouth and hands. The glittering depths of her intense eyes promised pleasure enough to capture Lucy's soul, each touch promising to be rich in mind numbing sensation, each caress imbued with meaning beyond any they could have spoken of openly. "I am the wicked."

She actually had to sit back and remember to exhale as she saw this new side of Amy. There had been glimmers, back in LA, but Lucy had thought it would require taking the blonde away from a world that suffocated her to release this golden side of her charismatic nature. In seven days, she'd seen it enough to know for a fact it was there and with encouragement could be brought out, but Lucy had hoped to see that change. Instead, she was taken from the sweet Amy she'd known before to this intensely magnetic woman mere feet from her. Instinctively drawn to power as she was, Lucy was captivated in an instant.

"Wow," she stared, shaking her head after an extended silence to try and loosen her thoughts, not to mention regain bloodflow to her brain. "You've learned a lot."

And as quickly as it had come on, Gryphon left her, leaving only Amy in its wake. She shrugged and seemed to avoid Lucy's eyes. "I've had to." The summer blue gaze flicked up. "If I hadn't've this world would've crushed me. It already was before," she admitted with blunt casualness. "I just didn't realise it until you showed me."

"So, what? You're saying I showed you how to be a better spy? To be the Perfect Spy 2.0?" Lucy shook her head. "No, Amy. That was in you all along. You've always had the potential to be so damned great. They said you were perfect." The warm eyes that swept over Amy's body told her the last statement was not an insult. Banked heat told her that Lucy had been viscerally affected by the sudden appearance of Gryphon, though she was not quite sure what to make of the knowledge. "They didn't have any clue did they? Of what you really could be."

Amy smiled and shook her head. "Not a damned one. They thought being a poster child or taking a stupid test made me perfect. They weren't even close. Now, I'm as near to 'perfect' as I will ever be, I guess." There was something that touched on sadness lurking in her voice, something that felt foreign and sounded just a bare hint off of normal.

"No." The sharp crack of Lucy's voice actually forced Amy back. "You aren't perfect now, and you're not going to be. You will keep improving no matter how great you are. That's what sets you apart from everyone else, Amy." The thief's voice gentled as she continued, "You are constantly evolving and that's what intrigued the hell out of me about you," Lucy told her, everything else fading around them until it was a conversation between only the two of them, Cameron's continued silence aiding the exclusion. "I knew you were different to every other agent from the moment I laid eyes on you the first time. Not necessarily that you would grow to be this goddamned good, but something said that you would never be happy with just being 'good enough.'"

"It's more than that though." Sapphire darkened with something unreadable. "I'd be just as happy studying my art," the agent admitted softy.

This time, it was Lucy who touched Amy's arm, her fingers lingering near the blonde's hand, her skin tantalisingly close. "No, that's not what I mean. Whatever you do, you excel; everything you touch, you make yours. Whether you are painting, fighting crime, helping people, or living, you put all that you are into it. All your passion." Pulling her hand back, the thief watched Amy for a long moment before giving the smallest shake of her head. "But we aren't here to reminisce, I would imagine." Her dark eyes flicked over to look at Cameron before returning to Amy. "I assume you contacted me for a specific reason?"

The shift in conversation was a welcome one, and for once, Amy found herself taking refuge in the planned confines of the mission as she straightened and laced her fingers together, letting her arms rest on the table. "Yes. Have you heard of a man by the name of Miguel Alibrandi?"

~~~

"Bingo." Scud looked up at Katja, smiling briefly. "I guess they finally decided to see what we've been hearing for the last few months."

The blonde shrugged and leaned over the man's shoulder to take a closer look at the display on his laptop. "Or, they've known all along and it's simply required this long to get the rest of the intelligence community aware," the assassin replied in a murmur. "You know how thick-skulled those fools are." Katja turned to look at Scud, her face centimetres away from his. "And we know they were onto him in Italy. I would imagine though-" She straightened back up. "-that now, they are ready to do something about it, but know they still need help."

"Uh-huh." Scud returned his attention to the computer. "The sort that only Lucy can give."

"As you said, Sam," Katja looked down at the young man. "'Bingo.'" Turning away, the blonde made for the door, tossing over her shoulder, "I'll locate her team and radio back in with each. Keep an eye on everything else and if there is any change-"

"Give you a heads up," he finished for her with a bob of his head. "Don't worry. I won't let you be caught off guard like that again," the young man promised. 

"I know you won't," the assassin replied, slipping out of the soundproofed back room and into a dark corridor. Glancing about down each end, she paused midway down it and pressed her hand to the wall, waiting the few seconds needed for the panel to slide open and for her to duck in. A grin found its way to her lips as she found the basic ladder she needed and began her ascent into the dark, isolated heights of the club. With its 'accident' and subsequent rebuild, 'Privilege' had been forced into near bankruptcy and a precarious financial situation; one that Lucy had very easily pulled them from and with her ownership of the nightclub, had set in place a number of renovations. It was no small coincidence that she habitually chose this place for meetings and contacts with her vast network.

Emerging high above a dance floor, Katja set about her search, traversing scaffolding and catwalk alike with complete ease and comfort as though it were hard earth beneath her feet and not wire-thin walks. Completely silent even though she had the cover of the pulsing music to any sound she might make, Katja paused to watch the dark girl peering down at the club below. Even though there existed no reason to know, it took only a few moments of watching her for the assassin to blink and smile in surprise at what she learned. As she posed little threat to Lucy, Katja backed away, leaving the deaf girl in peace.

Her opinion of Amy shifting again and very much intrigued by the inclusion of such an operative on her team, the assassin ducked under a rope of cabling and around one of the super-heated lights. Reaching up above her head, Katja grasped a bar and pulled herself over the rail of the catwalk, carefully but confidently balancing on a slender bar from the lattice frame suspension unit. Easily, she traversed the network of bar and cable designed to house the extensive light system that flooded the club floors below, deftly making the transition from one panel unit to another. As she reached a far wall, the assassin ducked into a recess and found the simple ladder and descended once again into the murky depths of the club to continue her work.

~~~

Her eyes quiet in their regard of the agent, Lucy watched Amy for several moments before nodding as an answer to her inquiry. "I have," she verbally replied, pausing long enough to raise a hand and catch the eye of a nearby watchman. As the woman ascended the steps to their table and listened intently to Lucy's order, she nodded once and left to procure the requested drinks and items.

"What do you know of him?"

The dark thief sat back in her chair and watched Amy for several long seconds before tilting her head in the opposite direction. "He is a medium-level fish with the ambition, connections, and ruthlessness to become a very nasty shark." The statement was just that, a clear and precise sentence, giving away nothing as to the woman's thoughts behind it. "He is also something of a festering wound to the greater underground community; a sore spot if you will." Lucy paused long enough to watch the woman return and set both drink and tray onto the table.

Reaching forward, she picked up the glass set before her and took a drink, nodding minutely in assent to the quality. "You see, Alibrandi...he is the perfect lieutenant in any Capofamiglia's eyes. Sharp, cunning, unbreakable, also ambitious enough to keep any Sotto Capo on his toes, even to his deathbed. The sort of man you want at your side, but one you never trust your back to."

"He is worrisome however because of his ambition." She continued, knowing her audience both at the table and many thousand miles away listened attentively. "So long as he remains as part of another's organisation he is controllable and knows his place, but Miguel is not happy with this. For the last, god, decade, he's been satisfied enough to remain in the wings and learn from all those he has served, but from what I've been told -as I've not met him myself- he is not a content man. He is very driven and he wants the power he wields for himself; in his name."

Although she paused for a moment, still Lucy commanded the dialogue as she gestured to the platter. When she found the words for which she searched, the thief continued, "This worries the old families, however, because we are an aristocratic lot. Many believe that power like ours is a birthright; something given to you by your father and his father before him." Pausing, Lucy mulled over her words for a touch before simply giving a small shrug. "It is not something in a generation made or taken, but something you are found worthy to have bestowed upon you. Exceptions have been known to be made, yes, but they are rare beyond myth. Miguel, they find lacking of key attributes, one of them: his complete disregard for loyalty and honour. This worries us because above all else, family and honour are what we hold in the absolute highest regard and Alibrandi steadfastly refuses to acknowledge this call for respect."

Sensing the other woman's pause and welcome of her question, Amy asked, "What's being done about him then?"

Lucy sighed. "That's what pisses me off about it all," she admitted, completely and knowingly startling Amy, though the blonde almost kept it completely from registering. "Nothing. They all prefer to push their heads into the sand and believe that he will go away, but what they don't realise is that with every passing day of their negligence, the stronger that little bastard gets."

Amy blinked, fighting a smile that demanded to be shown. Although the admission had taken her off-guard, it was more the ease with which it was given that gave her surprise, not the actual words. She had always been quite confident all along that the thief would not be pleased over Miguel Alibrandi or how her fellow underworld associates were dealing with him. "You've made no public move against him." Somehow, in spite of it all, the cool mask of Gryphon still remained in place, keeping her carefully neutral and reserved - something she could only be thankful for, given the circumstances.

Grimacing slightly, Lucy replied, "It's more complicated than that. To speak against him is to declare outright war. I am not sure if I am ready to commit every single person associated with me to that sort of risk. If I did, then even your family would come into his line of fire because he has the resources to dig back and discover you."

Brown eyes were kind and gentle with the words she didn't want to speak, but knew she must, not simply because their truth hurt, but because Amy needed to know them. "It won't matter how important you may or may not be to me. He will not be above killing everyone in your family, simply to draw blood on me. That is the sort of man he is, by reputation."

"I know," Amy smiled humourlessly for a brief moment, surprising Lucy in turn. "And for that reason alone, I am grateful you haven't made a stand against him. Because it wouldn't just be my family, but everyone I know. Max, Dom...Janet would be twice the target because of her connection to Scud. Trust me, I know how lethal he is."

It was then that Lucy felt it, that she very narrowly almost gave in to let her eyes close in grief. Stubborn will alone kept the turmoil she felt from rippling across the casual surface she maintained. The things they spoke of with matter-of-fact tones and disassociated ease should have been breaking. There should be emotion, and yet instead, they exchanged the words and laden statements with the negligent rapport of a business discussion.

It was devoid of life; whatever passion they'd had before was gone, leaving a criminal mastermind and paramilitary operative in its wake.

And damned if it didn't hurt to the depths of her bruised soul.


End file.
